


The Friendly Beasts

by oldenuf2nb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abraxons, Dragons, M/M, Mysterious Disease, Professor Draco, Unicorns, veterinary!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/pseuds/oldenuf2nb
Summary: When the animals around Hogwarts become ill, Hagrid calls on the one person he hopes will help them all survive.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 262
Kudos: 549
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	1. A Sandy Beach and A Santa Hat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for:  
> ♦ slythindor100 25 Days of Draco and Harry, Advent 2020, and _the lovely photo prompt below_.
> 
> Special thanks to sassy_cissa for agreeing to run this madness yet again. Thank you, love. I know it’s a pain in the arse, but it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.
> 
> 2020 has been the most difficult year I can remember for a very long time. I hope this piece of fiction, my Christmas gift to all of you, can help lift your spirits. Bless you all.
> 
>   
> 

Harry Potter walked along the pristine, deserted beach, the sand warm beneath his bare feet, the stunning expanse of sky above dotted with occasional fluffy clouds. In the distance across a stretch of brilliant azure blue water he could see the coast of Tortola, one of the largest of the cluster of Islands. The beach where he stood was on Ginger Island, one of the last so-called ‘uninhabited' islands in the British Virgin Islands. But it wasn't uninhabited; not at all. It was merely charmed to look that way to the outside world. 

Under the wards, a thriving wizarding village called _Mystrariouse_ clung to the highest peak of Ginger Island. Simple stuccoed houses painted in bright pastel colors dotted the hillsides in clusters, and a few jagged little streets, veering this way and that, made up a wizarding neighborhood not unlike Hogsmeade. Of course, there was no snow on the roofs, but there was a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes right in the middle next to a Zonko's and across the street from Quality Quidditch. Sometimes it was a weird juxtaposition; days in the summer when the heat shimmered off the cobblestones. Even in December the sun shone and the beaches gleamed, and as Harry walked, the sleeves of his simple island button down fluttering in the breeze, his flip flops dangling from one hand. 

Harry paused, watching the clear water washing in to lap against the pristine shore before retreating to repeat the process. Harry stared at the pale sand the consistency of brown sugar, and had a thought. He wasn't ordinarily creative; at least he didn't think so. But he thought this was too good an idea to ignore. Tossing his worn beach shoes aside, he reached back and pulled his wand from his back pocket, holding it between his teeth as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders. He cast the spell, thinking McGonagall would never believe it as he transfigured the shirt into a red velvet Santa hat, complete with fur trim and round, jaunty fur ball. Waving his wand he wrote ‘Merry Christmas' in the sand, much more neatly with magic than he ever could have with his fingers, then pulled his neat mobile from his back pocket and took a quick snap. He looked at the resulting photo, certain the image would make his best Christmas card, ever. His friends at home would be green with envy, and the thought made him smile.

By the time he was done the sun was hot on his shoulders and his skin, tanned a deep tawny brown from almost constant exposure to the sun was slick and shiny. He restored the hat to a shirt just as the water washed his message away and swept over his toes. The wave was warm, and he sighed in pleasure. He missed England, but this – this was heaven on earth. He'd been on Ginger for five years, and the feeling of the warm water brushing his feet and ankles never got old. He pulled his shirt, now dotted with pictures of tiny Santa hats, back up his arms and buttoned the top button before slipping his wand and his mobile into his pocket as he scooped up his shoes and resumed his walk toward the grouping of small buildings tucked up against a bluff in the distance.

The nearer he got, the thicker the wards around the compound grew. If he'd been a regular wizard, one not keyed to the wards, (or who hadn't set them, in point of fact) he'd have suddenly been transported back into the wizard quarter, very hungry and determined to find a meal. There wouldn't have been another thought about the gorgeous stretch of pristine, sandy beach, or the encounter with uncommonly strong wards. Harry had set them nearly five years before when he'd begun his residency at the Scamander Veterinary Preserve for Large Magical Beasts. It was started years ago by the famous Newt Scamander on one of his extended missions in the British Virgin Isles. He'd come in search of an uncommonly large, magical lizard, and had stayed for several years upon his discovery of a local dragon, also named after him. He was one of Harry's hero's, and the reason he'd gone into large animal veterinary medicine to begin with.

He walked through the final set of wards, the long black hair pulled into an elastic at his nape lifting in the static electricity then settling back down against his neck. Every hair on his long body did the same; his chest, his legs, other more intimate areas, even the closely trimmed beard on his chin and upper lip. The first time it happened, he'd thought he'd never get used to it; now he scarcely noticed. He walked past the pens holding the Pickney Dem horses, named by the Caribbean natives. Their name meant ‘children,' basically. Mischievous children. They were beautiful, huge dark brown horses with black manes and tails, distantly related to Clydesdales but nearly twice as large. Their rambunctious spirit had earned them their name centuries before, and they were known to make attachments to wizards that lasted for much of their very long lives. When she saw Harry one mare whinnied and made her way to the tall, magical fence. The repelling magic made his skin buzz but when she approached from the other side, dipping her huge head down over the fence, he smiled up at her.

"Hello, lovely lady," he murmured, reaching up to stroke her velvety nose. "You been a good girl?"

She nickered softly in response, and he shook his head. "Liar," he teased. He looked down at the large plaster on her front foreleg. "You've been taking it easy on that leg, yeah?" 

She shook her massive head, and he chuckled. "Well, at least you're honest. I'll be in to check you in a bit, yes?"

She snorted and walked away toward the stables. "Bossy bint," he called after her, and unless he was mistaken, the nicker that drifted back to him on the afternoon breeze sounded more like ‘piss off' than anything. He smirked and walked up the long walkway, now lined with crushed seashells. Wincing, he stopped long enough to slip his flip flops onto his feet before continuing on his way. 

The wide white door leading into the main clinic was emblazoned with their name, all of it, (which was something of an inside joke) and beneath that was printed H. Potter, Vet in residence. He opened the door, calling out; "here!"

A small, beautiful woman with tightly braided black hair swinging around her open brown face came through the doorway near the back of the large room, white teeth gleaming. 

"Decided to get up today, did you?" she teased. 

"Anya," he moaned. "Give me a break. I spent the night soothing a very cranky mama dragon and her hatchling."

"I've been to see them," she said, sinking her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. "Aside from Astrid being a very crabby bitch and very territorial about her new little man, their blood work looks fine."

Harry whistled. "How did you manage that?"

"Slight of hand," Anya said wryly. "And Dragon treats. We need to name him, you know."

Harry rocked onto his heels, expression thoughtful. "What letter are we on?"

"L."

"Hmm." Harry pursed his lips, thinking of the little green dragon who had looked up at him with giant black eyes and tiny papery thin wings, slick with slime as he emerged from his egg. He shook his head, clearly disliking the situation intensely. Harry had laughed, stroking his small, scaley head. "Lee," he said decisively. "For Lee Jordan."

Lee ran the local franchise of WWW, and just like when they'd been at school, Lee never failed to make Harry laugh.

"Lee Jordan is a dufus," she said, her expression sour.

"Exactly!" 

Harry walked over to the wall, eyes moving over the files hanging from large binder clips "Okay, so hand off, doctor."

"Just the lab tech, but I can fill you in." She walked down the row of files, touching them lightly. "And finally, Miss Amala. If we don't remove that cast, she's going to chew it off."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, she met me at the fence line as I came in."

Anya scowled. "She'll barely lets me near her."

"You know how those horses are; they connect with one caregiver and that's it. It's no reflection on your skills."

"I think the bossy bint has a crush on you."

"Well, then she's doomed to disappointment," Harry said sardonically. "Not only is she a horse as big as a house, she's a girl." He shuddered theatrically, and Anya laughed. 

"We aren't that bad."

"Oh, I know. Some of my best friends are women. I just don't want one of them crushing on me. Especially one big enough to crush me in the process."

Anya moaned. "Very bad pun, Dr Potter. Very, very bad. Oh, and by the way, you got an owl earlier. I thought the poor bird was going to faint in the main room here."

Harry's brows shot up. "An International owl?"

"If it is, it's new at it. I sent him out to the owlery for treats and a rest. The envelope is on the desk, over there."

Harry recognized the handwriting on the outside of the envelope instantly, and he picked it up in delight, running his thumb over the words, "Harry Potter, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, Ginger Island, British Virgin Islands." He laughed at seeing his entire title, so very prim and proper, spelled out on the white vellum.

"Hermione."

He touched the neat as a pin lettering again, then flipped the envelope over and slipped his fingers under the flap.


	2. Somewhere Under the Rainbow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:

_“Oh, and by the way, you got an owl earlier. I thought the poor bird was going to faint in the main room here.”_

_Harry’s brows shot up. “An International owl?”_

_“If it is, it’s new at it. I sent him out to the owlery for treats and a rest. The envelope is on the desk, over there.”_

_Harry recognized the handwriting on the outside of the envelope instantly, and he picked it up in delight, running his thumb over the words, “Harry Potter, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, Ginger Island, British Virgin Islands.” He laughed at seeing his entire title, so very prim and proper, spelled out on the white vellum._

_“Hermione.”_

_He touched the neat as a pin lettering again, then flipped the envelope over and slipped his fingers under the flap._

**Harry** , Hermione had written on a thick white card, **I hope this finds you well. I’m writing because it’s my turn, and if I wait for you, I’ll still be waiting in June.**

Harry felt a twinge of guilt and grimaced, but he couldn’t deny it. 

**I love you, but you’re a horrible correspondent, Harry. Anyway, I’m writing to you because Hagrid won’t. He thinks you’re too busy to help an old friend. I told him he’s being silly, but you know how wary he is of asking for a favour.**

Harry did, and he frowned in concern. He knew how Hagrid hesitated to ask for help; it had got him in tight spots more than once. Harry pulled out the rolling chair behind the desk and sat, leaning his elbows on the desk top blotter as he read.

**There is some sort of virus that is killing off many of the magical creatures at Hogwarts. So far, we’ve lost three Thestrals, a unicorn and several Bowtruckles. Even the giant squid has been evidencing symptoms of whatever this is.**

Harry’s frown deepened and alarm flared in his chest. He idly rubbed the stubble on his square jaw. 

**Hagrid is desperately trying everything he knows, but so far nothing has helped and he’s frantic. I know you have responsibilities there but would it be possible for you to come home, even for a few weeks? I just know that with your experience with magical creatures, you’ll be able to think of something.**

**Please, Harry. For Hagrid.**

**Love, Hermione.**

Beneath that, in decidedly messy handwriting, someone else had written; **Come home, you great prat. We miss you, and you’ve never even seen your new Godson. Don’t make me come over there and beat on you.**

Harry couldn’t help the small snort that escaped him. “You could try,” he muttered, but then thought better of it. Ron had become something of a physical specimen while he’d been in the Auror corps; he probably could thrash Harry, given the opportunity. In truth, Harry hadn’t seen Hugo yet and he was nearly two. The last time he’d seen Rose, she’d been two and she recently turned four. Hermione and Ron had come to visit during their vacation, bringing the kids with them. It had been a great week. And even though he had been busy, going two years without seeing any of his three godchildren was pretty unforgivable. Thinking about it, he realized Teddy was almost fifteen. Even though he sent Ted lots of pictures and emails and had the boy out to stay with him for two weeks three summers ago, that didn’t replace his being there. 

He re-read the section Hermione had written about the problem with the animals, frowning. There was an insect native to the islands who could cause that with a bite, but it wouldn’t survive the first frost in England. Anything that could kill a unicorn had to be very potent; they were nearly indestructible and lived hundreds of years. He read through again, thinking what she was describing actually sounded like the effects of a spell, and that was troubling. 

He stood, folding the note in half and slipping it into his back pocket along with his wand. He’d have to think about this before he responded. He’d also have to speak to Jory, the other vet who worked at the clinic. This was really a two-man job, at least. Anya was brilliant, and could certainly step in when needed, but her forte and her job description said lab tech. He sighed, wondering if any of the Vets on the big island could stop in a couple of times a week while he was gone because apparently, without consciously realizing it, he’d already decided he was going.

He started for the door when a soft touch on his arm stopped him. 

“Bad news?” Anya asked cautiously. 

“No, not really,” Harry answered her, forcing a smile. “Just some information about an old friend.”

“Is he all right?”

Anya had lost both of her grandparents within the last year, and their passing had left her prone to worry. He couldn’t blame her. 

“He’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled her into a hug, hoping to soothe her concerns and smooth the worry lines from her forehead. She smelled of gardenias, and he inhaled deeply. The scent helped calm the galloping of his heart. “He’s the Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts, and he’s having some issues with his large charges.”

“Oh.” She stepped back, patting his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure you can send him a letter and help him sort them out.”

Harry nodded, feeling guilty. He’d have to tell her he was going home for a couple of weeks, but he didn’t have to tell her right then. “I’m going to go check on Lee, then I’m going to see if we can take that plaster off Miss Amala. Her scans looked good yesterday, but I was being cautious.”

Anya’s smile was brilliant. “That’s what makes you a good Vet. Would you like some coffee?”

“Anya, that’s like asking me if I’d like your mama’s _Roti_.” Just the thought of the flavorful flat bread, stuffed with fish and vegetables made Harry’s stomach growl. He loved coffee the way Anya made it; black, full of fall spices, so dark and thick it was more the consistency of hot chocolate.

Anya’s laugh was musical. “That’s a yes, then. You’ll need to keep your Saturday afternoon clear if you’re missing the _Roti_. It’s Levi’s birthday, and mama is cooking.”

“It’s a date,” Harry said with a bright grin. Anya smacked his shoulder. 

“Do not say that in front of my mother,” she scolded. “Then I have to explain how the pretty Dr Harry prefers men to women, and that isn’t a conversation I currently want to have.”

“Got it. And believe me, I understand.” 

Harry hadn’t wanted to have that conversation with Molly either, particularly after breaking up with her daughter. Fortunately, Ginny moved on quickly, hooking up with Neville, and Charlie had been the first of her sons to bring a boyfriend home. It still made Harry physically ill for the week before he told her. 

“I’ll bring your coffee out to the pen,” she said as he went through the door into a long hallway.

“Thank you.” The smile was easier this time, even though Hagrid’s dilemma was still at the forefront of his mind.

The dragon pens were the furthest from the main offices, mostly as a reaction to fire risk. The Scamander Blueneck wasn’t as likely to react with fire as say, the Hungarian Horntail, but when they were baby’s they could be unpredictable. 

Harry walked down the long hallway that led away from the offices, passing a colorful mural that was painted by the local school children. They did yearly tours for the kids, and the painting had been a gift to the clinic. It featured the staff; there was Anya with her long braids and white coat, Harry with wildly curling hair and bright green eyes behind blocky black eyeglass frames, and Jory, smile bright in his dark face. Hundreds of butterflies in every color imaginable flew with Dragons through a brilliant blue sky, and huge horses with brown coats and black manes ran beneath an arching rainbow, which was more apt than the kids knew. In the corner sat a rainbow-colored Christmas tree, bought to complement the mural but a sort of inside joke amongst the staff as well. Harry and Jory were both unapologetically gay, and as Anya put it, she was ‘flexible’. Thinking of her as a sort of little sister, that wasn’t something Harry really wanted to contemplate. And yes, he knew how fundamentally hypocritical that was. 

The last pen on the left was fitted out with heating lamps, and Harry could see their glow long before he got there. The Bluenecks were warm blooded creatures, and the winter temperatures, even though they were comfortable for humans they weren’t particularly temperate for little dragons. They’d lost a few before figuring out that the tiny creatures just got too cold. Now their enclosure was set at a temperate forty-four degrees Celsius, and Harry reached up to pull the elastic from his hair before twisting it back in again, making sure as much of his unruly mane was pulled back as he could possibly manage. He hated it when sweat trickled down his neck from under his hair.

The pens had half doors, and Harry leaned on it for several minutes, watching the majestic female dragon sleeping peacefully, her little hatchling curled into her iridescent blue body. They were so spectacular, he thought. The Bluenecks weren’t as big as the Horntails or the Welsh greens, but Harry thought they were more beautiful. Their scales were thick but pliable, a deep blue close to the dragon’s body, lightening to a shimmering cobalt along the edges. Their heads were sleek, snouts narrow, black eyes large and thickly lashed. They had curled goat like horns, and their wings folded into their backs, nearly invisible when they slept. Harry watched him carefully, relieved to see that little Lee was breathing easily in his sleep. Harry had planned to examine him a little more closely, but he knew how cranky a newly wakened mama dragon could be, and he really didn’t want to face Astrid’s wrath by waking her up. So he stood in the doorway, feeling the heat coming from the room, enjoying watching the two creatures sleep. 

“Hello, beautiful man.”

Harry straightened and turned, surprised to find Jory Michelin approaching him on nearly silent feet.

“I swear to Merlin,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You move like a cat.”

Jory laughed, white teeth gleaming. “And this is a bad thing?”

“It’s an irritating thing.”

Jory reached out, cupping Harry’s cheek. “Relax, Harry. Frowning so much will make you old before your time, and with this face, that would be a terrible shame.”

Harry smiled slightly and didn’t pull away.

He and Jory had a brief fling two years before when Jory first arrived to complete his residency. He was lithe and strong and one of the smartest men Harry ever met. It had been lovely and mutually satisfying in the beginning, then not enough for either of them. They broke it off so as not to complicate their workplace relationship. Jory now lived with his partner Simon, and Harry was, sadly, still waiting for ‘Mr Right’ while going through a series of ‘Mr Right Now’s’. 

Jory dropped his hand to Harry’s shoulder, looking past him into the pen. “How is little man today?”

“He seems to be just fine,” Harry answered, turning back as well. “She’s a good mum.”

Jory stepped up beside him. “Good. I wasn’t sure she would be.”

“We should know by now that even the crankiest dragons make very good mums.”

“True.” Jory glanced over at him, bumping him with his shoulder. “I understand you’ve had an International owl. Care to share?”

Harry sighed. “I should know that there’s no such thing as a secret around here.”

Jory turned and leaned against the open half of the split door. “Stop deflecting. What’s going on in England that’s put those frown lines between your brows?”

Harry leaned against the other side of the frame, facing him. “You remember my friend, Hagrid?”

“The one who teaches Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts? The half giant, right?”

Harry knew Jory had a memory like a steel trap, but it still always surprised him. “Yeah, that’s the one.” Harry pulled the note from Hermione from his pocket, and held it out. “Something weird is going on with the magical creatures at Hogwarts.”

Jory’s lips pursed, and he pulled Hermione’s note from the envelope.

TBC


	3. That Jumper Isn’t the Only Ugly Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
> 

_Jory glanced over at him, bumping him with his shoulder. “I understand you’ve had an International owl. Care to share?”_

_Harry sighed. “I should know that there’s no such thing as a secret around here.”_

_Jory turned and leaned against the open half of the split door. “Stop deflecting. What’s going on in England that’s put those frown lines between your brows?”_

_Harry leaned against the other side of the frame, facing him. “You remember my friend, Hagrid?”_

_“The one who teaches Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts? The half giant, right?”_

_Harry knew Jory had a memory like a steel trap, but it still always surprised him. “Yeah, that’s the one.” Harry pulled the note from Hermione from his pocket, and held it out. “Something weird is going on with the magical creatures at Hogwarts.”_

_Jory’s lips pursed, and he pulled Hermione’s note from the envelope._

Harry pulled his old school trunk from the back of a storage shed built onto the deck of the small, brightly painted house just off the wizarding quarter. It was a simple place, bright blue with straight lines, and small, plain rooms. The two reasons he’d chosen it were the large windows that let in enormous amounts of light, and the spectacular views. The house clung like a mushroom to the side of the cliff, and from the small living room he could see Tortola, with Great Camanoe and the Scrub Islands beyond it. The air was crystal clear, and he loved the way birds dipped and swayed past his windows, diving into the surf. Without the charms Harry had reinforced he doubted the place would stay in place, but he loved the sun, and the sea, and the sound of the crashing waves far below.

He hefted the trunk up over his shoulder. It was empty and therefore very light, and he remembered fondly how heavy it felt, even empty, when he was eleven. He carried it through the sliding glass door into his tiny living room, pulling the slider closed behind him and settling the trunk on the couch. Belatedly realizing he probably should have just used _Wingardium Leviosa_ , he could hear a snide, clipped voice in his head. 

“You’re a wizard, Potter. You might want to remember that on occasion.” 

He smirked, recalling the moment, the crystalline cut tones as clear as if he were hearing them again. It was one of the few civil conversations they’d ever had, and those beautiful silvery gray eyes had looked at him, for the first time, with something other than disdain. Harry had been carrying several heavy bags full of Christmas gifts, struggling to get them to the _Apparition_ point when he’d heard the voice behind him. He turned, nearly pitching himself into the cobblestoned street of Diagon Alley, and a strong hand closed around his arm. After Malfoy’s snide remark they stood there, Harry stunned into silence and Malfoy with a tiny smile flirting with the corner of his mouth. He reached down and took two of the bags from Harry’s hand.

“Merlin’s balls, Potter. What did you buy; bricks?”

Harry smiled slightly, recalling the tentative, slightly awkward walk to the alley behind Fortesque’s. When they got to the opening of the Appartition point, they stood in uncomfortable silence until Malfoy held out his hand and Harry retrieved his bags. Malfoy gave him a brief, curt nod then turned and walked briskly away. Harry watched him out of sight, and he’d never forget it. Malfoy was tall and lean, and he’d been wearing a dark blue, turtle-necked jumper, black slacks and a shin length black overcoat. His boots clicked on the cobblestones, and Harry, watching his immaculately dressed frame walk away, felt like an unmade bed with an uncomfortable hard on, watching the cause of it disappear around a corner. 

“’Bye,” he’d murmured, his soft voice wistful. Gods, if they’d just been smarter back then, and braver. But they hadn’t been, and the next Monday he’d left for his residency on Ginger, forcing himself not to pine. It hadn’t been easy. And if he was honest, the scene replayed in his daydreams. Often. According to Hermione, Malfoy was now teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts and had been in a relationship with a wizard who had been working at Gringotts, but it had ended a few months ago. And Harry, to her consternation, went from man to man, wanting a long-term relationship but not finding the right person. Jory had been the best of his stream of lovers, but Harry couldn’t even make it work with him. For the last few months he’d remained single, and it was a good choice; he was much happier that way; Hermione said she believed he was so picky he was making it impossible for any man to live up to his unfeasible standards. He countered that he merely knew what he wanted. Or so he kept telling himself. 

He flipped the trunk open, clearing the detritus of his last trip from the bottom. He made a trip to Tortola’s Hospital for Large Magical Creatures several months before, staying in a hotel for the two weeks he was there. He picked up tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and conditioner, a candy bar that was no longer its original shape and a nearly empty tube of toothpaste. He pitched all of it into the kitchen bin. He walked into his tiny bedroom, pulling the closet door open and leaning inside. Shoved into a corner behind his light-weight shirts and slacks were his English winter clothes. Harry pulled several jumpers off hangers, tossing a wool pea coat over his shoulder and laying wool slacks over his arm. They all felt stiff and smelled stuffy, and he hoped he could get the Hogwarts elves to clean them for him, because he wasn’t about to risk giving them a soak in the sink. He’d done that once, and the results had been nothing short of disastrous, with an expensive cashmere jumper Hermione had given him drying to one tenth of its usual size. He folded each one carefully, casting freshening spells on them. It helped, and he went to the closet just inside his front door, taking out his long winter over-coat. He hadn’t worn it a single time since he’d arrived on Ginger, but it was December in the UK; he didn’t look forward to how cold he was going to be. He knew his blood had thinned over the years he’d been on the island; he always listened to new imports from the UK bitch about how hot it was with a certain amount of amusement. It was how he’d felt five years before when he first arrived. 

He pulled the coat from its hanger, tossing it over his shoulder, then laughed when he saw what was hanging behind it. 

It was a truly ugly Christmas sweater, its background black, red bands around the collar and waist. There were two tiny yellow bells on each shoulder, a large red bow in the center of the front. Dangling from it were two old-fashioned harness bells, and above them were the words ‘Jingle My Bells’. 

The jumper wasn’t his. It belonged to a one night stand he’d picked up at an ugly sweater do at the local gay bar, either last year or the one before. Harry couldn’t even remember what he’d worn, but he had no problem remembering that the man who’d worn the sweater in his hand looked like Gale Howard, the bloke who played Brian Kinney on the American re-boot of Queer as Folk. The British show aired in 1999 and being just off the second war and the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had other things on his mind. It was a couple of years later when Hermione turned him on to the yank version, and he thought Brian Kinney was the sexiest thing on two legs. The dark hair spilling over his brow, the slouch, the ironic, dismissive conceit, the snark; two episodes in, Harry had been in love. Which was why, when he met a Gale Howard look alike at the local gay bar, Harry promptly took him home. He was a brilliant fuck, and for all of six hours Harry thought he’d found the man of his dreams. Until six the next morning when the sexy guy with the stubble and the acid washed blue jeans worn thin in all the right places, and the _I couldn’t give a fuck attitude_ answered a call on his mobile from his _wife_. Harry tossed him out on his arse, the ugly sweater had been left behind. 

Now he looked at it hanging there, and wondered why he hadn’t tossed it out with the man. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and pulled it from the hanger, folding it and tossing it into the open trunk. Who knew when he might need an ugly Christmas sweater? And he could always put it on under a hoodie if it was cold enough. Which reminded him –

He grabbed the jumper, then his hoodies from the bottom drawer of his small dresser, (he had three fleece hoodies, one a truly ugly orange Chudley Cannon’s monstrosity Ron gave him his last Christmas at home), which reminded him he might need his knit hats and heavy gloves, and he spent a fruitless twenty minutes looking for them before recalling they were in the flat he still paid rent on in London. He supposed he should call the landlord and do something about that while he was in the U.K. Harry had donated Grimmauld Place to a charity aiding War Orphans before the end of May of 1998, knowing memories of Sirius would make it impossible for him to live there. Kreacher had protested vigorously, but he was at Hogwarts, or he had been. He thought Hermione probably would’ve let him know if the creaky old elf died. He ran his hands over his face; Gods, when he’d come to Ginger, he’d never imagined he’d be gone five years. He supposed he was a bit of a directionless wanker at the time, then snorted. _A bit?_ That was the understatement of the century. He’d been a disaster. 

He seemed to have found his feet since then.

His Floo chimed, and Harry turned to the fireplace he’d added to the house when he moved in. He usually kept it locked, but he was sort of expecting to hear from Hermione when she got home from her job at the Ministry. Or it was Jory with another thought about what might be affecting the animals at Hogwarts, and Harry grabbed some of the gritty Floo powder between his fingers, casting _Incendio_ before tossing it onto the flames. They flared bright green as Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting for a face to appear. 

When it did, he knew his mouth dropped open in shock. It wasn’t Jory. “What the fuck?”

“Charming.” Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes, his full mouth flattening into an irritated line. “But then, what should I expect?” 

“Why are you in my Floo?” Harry countered, irritated by his own surprise, even more irritated by the fact he’d let it show. 

“Have you received Granger’s owl yet?”

Harry frowned. How did he know about that? “Just today. Why?”

“So, are you coming or aren’t you?”

Harry felt his exasperation grow in pace with noticing how damned good Malfoy looked. He’d grown into those pointy features, and his hair was now soft over his forehead, absent of the gel he’d used during their younger years. His cheekbones were high and pronounced and his skin was perfect. Once again Harry felt like a slob by comparison.

He had to think for a moment to recall the question, and of course Malfoy jumped into the pause.

“I know it’s a hard question, Potter. Perhaps I should put it into smaller words. _Are. You. Coming. Here._?”

“Oh, shut it, you git,” Harry snarled. “I just got the letter today, but if you must know I’m packing my trunk as we speak.” His irritation increased. “And what the hell difference does it make to you what I do?”

Malfoy’s eyes grew flinty. “I live here, you self-centered pillock,” he shot back. “And I happen to care that Hagrid is tearing himself apart with guilt because he hasn’t any idea what’s going on. I have no idea why he and Granger think _you_ can help, but they seem to. So if you’re coming I’d appreciate it if you’d get to it.”

“Merlin.” Harry ran his hands through his thick hair, dislodging the elastic. The whole of it spilled over his shoulders, brushing his chin. “Are you always this fucking infuriating?”

Malfoy didn’t answer. He was staring at him, his mouth slightly open and a pink flush over his pale skin. 

“Malfoy?” Harry finally prodded. 

He shook himself. “Yes,” he answered finally, “to you, I will always be this fucking infuriating. Send Granger’s owl back and let her know when you’ll be here so we can keep poor Hagrid from offing himself. Oh, and uh… you should cut that mess on your head. It looks ridiculous, and Granger will never let you hear the end of it once she sees it.”

Harry caught up a handful of his hair, looking at the loose curls before turning back to the floo to give Malfoy a piece of his mind. Only, he was no longer there; the flames crackled merrily for a moment, then died with a soft whisper of sound.

“Gods, you bloody fucking… wanker!” Harry shot to his feet, yanking his hair back into the elastic with irritation. He’d be damned before he let bloody Malfoy tell me what to do with his own damned hair. He tried to remember what he’d been doing before the prat’s head appeared in his fireplace. It was something about…hoodies. Gloves. Hats.

Harry felt edgy and distracted. So, since when did Malfoy, or all people, know about Hermione’s owls? And when did he start caring about Hagrid?

And why was he turning up in Harry’s Floo, of all places. He’d left it unlocked, but _someone_ had to tell him the contact information.

Harry fumed as he fetched pants and socks from his dresser, tossing them on top of his hoodies, then folding his long overcoat with stiff, jerky motions. 

His best friend owed him an explanation. 

TBC


	4. Ornaments in the Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this chapter:

_“Malfoy?” Harry finally prodded._

_He shook himself. “Yes,” he answered finally, “to you, I will always be this fucking infuriating. Send Granger’s owl back and let her know when you’ll be here so we can keep poor Hagrid from offing himself. Oh, and uh… you should cut that mess on your head. It looks ridiculous, and Granger will never let you hear the end of it once she sees it.”_

_Harry caught up a handful of his hair, looking at the loose curls before turning back to the floo to give Malfoy a piece of his mind. Only, he was no longer there; the flames crackled merrily for a moment, then died with a soft rush of sound._

_“Gods, you bloody fucking… wanker!” Harry shot to his feet, yanking his hair back into the elastic with irritation. He’d be damned before he let bloody Malfoy tell me what to do with his own damned hair. He tried to remember what he’d been doing before the prat’s head appeared in his fireplace. It was something about…hoodies. Gloves. Hats._

_Harry felt edgy and distracted. So, since when did Malfoy, or all people, know about Hermione’s owls? And when did he start caring about Hagrid?_

_And why was he turning up in Harry’s Floo, of all places. He’d left it unlocked, but _someone_ had to tell him the contact information._

_Harry fumed as he fetched pants and socks from his dresser, tossing them on top of his hoodies, then folding his long overcoat with stiff, jerky motions._

_His best friend owed him an explanation._

He picked up his Portkey at the tiny Ginger Island Portkey office, enjoying the last few moments of the mild island weather before he was whisked away to typical December temperatures in the U.K. Instantly on arriving he resized a thick jumper and his pea coat, both of which he’d had the forethought to shrink and slip into his pocket. Even inside the walls of the London International portkey office, it was fucking freezing and he hurriedly restored and yanked on the wool jumper and the thick coat, but he was still cold. 

It also took no time at all for him to be reminded why he loved living in the islands. There were weird moments immediately on his arrival, moments when he’d been reminded that here, he had to deal with who he was. He’d been gone from the U.K. long enough that he’d got used to the relative anonymity of Ginger Island. He was still ‘Harry Potter’ there; he doubted he could ever outrun his name as long as he stayed in the wizarding world. A few of the men he dated for instance, including the little lamented owner of the ‘Jingle Bells’ sweater, had been what Jory called ‘star fuckers’. But the majority of the wizarding world in the Virgin Islands was unimpressed by celebrity and very laid back. He loved that about them.

When the girl at the Portkey counter in London saw his passport, she wasn’t subtle about the whipped up head, and the staring. He’d sort of hoped no one would care who he was anymore; apparently they still did. Her hazel eyes had gone huge, and then she said his name so loud the other clerk started staring, too. He’d hoped his very un-European darkly tanned skin and his shoulder length hair might camouflage who he was, but that hope died on the spot. Signing the necessary forms, he ducked out of the impersonal office as quickly as possible, feeling their eyes follow him as he left. He strode briskly away, and wondered how long it would take for the _Daily Prophet_ to know he was back. He’d take bets it could be counted in minutes, not hours, if Skeeter was still on the staff. Refusing to let mere thoughts of the woman put knots back in his shoulders, he walked quickly to the Apparition point nearesty the Ministry, relieved when no one else even looked at him twice. 

He strode briskly along the path from the Apparition Station in Hogsmeade, hands shoved into his over-coat pockets, a newly purchased scarf wrapped taut around his throat. The old woman who ran the kiosk with scarfs and hats outside of the Three Broomsticks narrowed her eyes as she took his money, but if she recognized him she kept it to herself and thanked him for his custom. 

Gods, it was balls cold this far north; a digital sign inside the shockingly modern Apparition point read three degrees Celsius, and Harry wondered how he’d ever been able to tolerate this weather. It had been warmer in London when his Portkey arrived, drizzling outside the International Portkey Office attached to the Ministry, and the streets were slick and wet. It wasn’t cold enough for snow there yet, but it was a good six inches deep on either side of the much-traveled path from Hogsmeade to the gates of Hogwarts. He began to feel a burgeoning excitement as his feet first ached, then went numb. Even miserably cold, he felt a rush at being back. How many times, he wondered, had he walked this path while he’d been in school. He hurried through the dark night, his breath escaping in thick clouds of vapor as he crunched through the snow, recognizing every tree, every rock by the path, even with the otherworldly reflection of the half-moon on snow. 

Hermione probably would have told him to come through the Floos in the Ministry if she’d known he was coming. He hadn’t taken the time to send back her owl. Malfoy apparently talked to her often enough, Harry figured he’d let her know he was on his way. Even thinking it made him feel petty; Malfoy and Hermione were on staff at Hogwarts together; she was Assistant Headmistress, working with McGonagall until she decided to retire. Of course, they talked to one another; she was technically his boss. At any rate, she’d have suggested the Ministry Floo’s and he’d have said no; too many prying inside the Ministry. 

Harry’s spirits soared as he rounded the last bend in the path and picked up his pace. Off to the right were the thick trees of the Dark Forest and down to the left he could just see the shinning banks of the Black Lake, clearly frozen over. Down a steep stretch the massive gates of Hogwarts came into view, and another twenty feet and there it was, the school, the thousands of windows gleaming with warmth and light. Harry shivered, wanting that warmth as much as he wanted his next breath, drawing his wand to cast his Patronus.

“Someone said you needed a big animal Vet,” Harry said. The stag’s milky white eyes were quick with intelligence as he waited for Harry to give him further directions. “Give the message to Hermione.”

The animal nodded his head regally, then disappeared, and Harry stuck his hands back into his jackets pockets as he stood outside the gates, bouncing slightly in place as the breeze caught a long strand of his hair, whipping it across his face. 

To distract himself from the biting cold, he stepped closer to the gate, peering through, whistling through numb lips. The castle looked brilliant, windows like shining gem stones in the dark. Most of the damage had been repaired before he left, but it made him so happy to see everything looking as it had that first night, when he’d been eleven years old. On the huge lawn someone had decorated a massive fir tree with colored fairy lights, and between the tree and the main doors the lawn was dotted every few feet with brightly colored, illuminated spheres in every color of the rainbow. He didn’t remember Flitwick doing it when he’d been in school, but whoever had done it, it was brilliant. Not only did it light the way up to the school in a wonderful, seasonal manner, it made for far fewer dark corners for couples to hide in for after dinner trysts. Not that anyone would want a tryst right now, he thought, another shiver working its way through him. Who would expose skin to this kind of cold? As soon as he thought it, the answer came to him; teenagers. He chuckled, then straightened when he saw the towering doors open in the distance just as a brilliant white otter appeared in front of him. 

“Harry Potter, you’re an idiot,” the little animal said in Hermione Granger-Weasley’s no nonsense voice. “I’ll be right there.”

He grinned. Of course, she would.

Five minutes later he saw her trim, robe clad figure exit through the doors and his heart swelled in anticipation. She walked exactly the same; head up, strides full of purpose. She crunched through the snow, and her cowl slipped back, some of her long curling hair picked up by the breeze. When she was about forty yards out she waved her wand and the gates creaked open, leaving sweeping indentations in the snow. 

“Harry Potter, I swear to God.” She began to run and her robes flew open, revealing long, slender legs encased in heavy trousers, some sort of puffy jacket and thick winter boots. The lighted spheres showed her delighted smile and the shine of her cinnamon brown eyes, and Harry thought she was even more beautiful than she had been the last time he saw her. 

“Hermione.” He ran to meet her and they collided in the middle of the field of lighted spheres. He pulled her into his arms, and even with the winter clothes and the teacher’s robes, she still felt slight in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck and squeezed with her deceptive strength. 

“Harry.” She pressed her face into his chest, but not before he saw tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry. You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled as he dipped his head to bury his face in her thick hair. “Yeah, I am.”

TBC


	5. Star Anise and Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt:

_“Harry Potter, you’re an idiot,” the little animal said in Hermione Granger-Weasley’s no nonsense voice. “I’ll be right there.”_

_He grinned. Of course, she would._

_Five minutes later he saw her trim, robe clad figure exit through the doors and his heart swelled in anticipation. She walked exactly the same; head up, strides full of purpose. She crunched through the snow, and her cowl slipped back, some of her long curling hair picked up by the breeze. When she was about forty yards out she waved her wand and the gates creaked open, leaving sweeping indentations in the snow._

_“Harry Potter, I swear to God.” She began to run and her robes flew open, revealing long, slender legs encased in heavy trousers, some sort of puffy jacket and thick winter boots. The lighted spheres showed her delighted smile and the shine of her cinnamon brown eyes, and Harry thought she was even more beautiful than she had been the last time he saw her._

_“Hermione.” He ran to meet her and they collided in the middle of the field of lighted spheres. He pulled her into his arms, and even with the winter clothes and the teacher’s robes, she still felt slight in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck and squeezed with her deceptive strength._

_“Harry.” She pressed her face into his chest, but not before he saw tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry. You’re home.”_

_“Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled as he dipped his head to bury his face in her thick hair. “Yeah, I am.”_

He heard the wrought iron gates clang shut behind him, and still they held onto one another in a desperately tight embrace. He’d missed her, but he didn’t realize how much until that moment, when he felt the softness of her hair on his face and smelled the scent of flowers raising from her curls. She still used the same shampoo, and the thought warmed him. She finally lifted her head and stepped back, rubbing at her pink cheeks with her gloved hands. 

“I could just kick your arse,” she said, sniffing. He gave her a slow grin.

“It’s good to see you too, Hermione.”

“Oh, you!” She exhaled heavily. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, me too. Five years in the Caribbean has given me thin island blood.”

“You should have come through the Ministry Floos instead of the Apparition point. I won’t feel sorry for you; you didn’t have to walk from Hogsmeade. Rosmerta would have even let you use her Floo.”

Harry gave her a slightly mortified look. “I didn’t even think about that.”

He hadn’t. It had never even occurred to him.

Hermione shook her head, slipping her arm through his and pulling him across the lawn. “You’ve been gone too long.”

“No doubt. But right now, I’m missing Ginger and its 30 degrees.”

“Oh.” Hermione let out a deep, heartfelt moan. “How lovely.”

“It was. Sun shining, sky perfectly clear. I’ll show you a picture I took with my mobile later.” Harry looked up at the castle, delight surging through him. “But Scotland has it’s compensations, too.” 

She looked up into his face, her teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “It looks lovely, doesn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “It does. Are all of the repairs done?”

He’d worked at Hogwarts two full summers, helping with the repairs between his terms of Veterinary College. He’d been a bit surprised when he’d excelled in rebuilding the charms threaded through the walls, and embedded in the foundation. For some reason, he’d assumed someone like Hermione, with her vast knowledge, would be better at that than he was. He’d been prepared to roll up his sleeves and clear away rubble, if that’s where his strength was. It was McGonagall who’d told him not to be stupid, that he was one of very few people who seemed to have a deep, innate connection with the sentient personality of the school. 

“You saved it, Potter,” she told him with her sharp chin lifted and her eyes flinty blue. “It knows what it would have become if Voldemort had lived. There are very few of us who communicate with Hogwarts at that level; it’s always favored you. Don’t underestimate it’s intelligence.”

“Never, Headmistress,” he’d answered, both cowed and awed. “Never.” 

He found once he was working with the large beasts in magical Vet school, he shared the same sort of communication with magical creatures. Empathic. He wasn’t an empath the way some people were, as such, but he felt the unique bond he shared with certain magical creatures. And, apparently, a castle in the highlands of Scotland.

“Mostly.” Hermione answered his question about Hogwarts. “There are still some wonky spots in the wards. There is one area in particular Minerva was hoping you might take a look at, actually.” She wasn’t looking at him, and Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew her far to well for her to get away with that.

“Really.” Harry looked up the towering honey colored walls that were lit by the flaming wall sconces on either side of the huge carved oak doors. The old doors were blown apart during the battle and had been temporarily replaced with something plain, oak colored. These were different, darker and looked more permanent and Harry squinted a bit, trying to make out what was carved on them. “What area is that?” 

Hermione straightened; chin lifted as if preparing herself for him to challenge her. Harry studied the side of her face. 

“Hermione?”

She looked straight ahead determinedly. “The Room of Requirement.”

Harry felt a surge of alarm. “What’s wrong with it?”

She finally looked up at him. “We can’t find it,” she said. “It’s hiding and no one, not even those of us who’ve been in it before, can find the doors. The castle is locking us out.”

“Wait. We had it open before I left – “

They had. The room had been badly damaged, to be sure. Inside there was nothing left but piles of ash. Crabbe’s body was so completely incinerated there was nothing to find. Fiendfyre left lasting scars, on the walls and on the magic in them. So much of the school’s history was lost; Hogwarts seemed to feel it, as if it mourned for all the furniture and lanterns and books, the magical detritus of centuries. Harry felt the castles grief; Hogwarts felt the loss of the students and teachers, and the rips in its magic, the emotions not that different from Harry’s own. It took him eighteen months to sleep without a potion and he risked a serious addiction to Dreamless Sleep before he’d gone to a Mind Healer. The man helped to cleanse the nightmares left over from the previous year. The Battle of Hogwarts replayed itself over and over, night after night. Worse still was the Christmas Eve in Godric’s Hallow, finding his parent’s grave, and the brutal attack by Nagini. The Healer was able to wipe the horror away, leaving the remembrances behind. Now Harry could let the memories come without fearing the crippling anxiety that had once coloured everything. 

“What does Minerva think?” he asked. Hermione wasn’t offended that he asked for Minerva’s opinion; she knew the Headmistress’s connection with the school mirrored Harry’s. Hers was growing, as did everyone’s who rising through the ranks at Hogwarts, but she knew her hard-headed intelligence often got in the way of other magical qualities, like intuition, and empathy. 

“She thinks Hogwarts is hiding the room deliberately.”

“I wonder why,” Harry mused as they slowly climbed the steps to the doors. It was then that he finally saw what was depicted on the doors and he stopped in his tracks, nearly pitching Hermione face first into the deepening snow. “Oh, fucking hell,” he growled. “What the bloody hell is this?”

It was a rhetorical question. He could see what it was. Carved into the wood was a masterly illustration of the last morning of the Battle, the castle smoldering in the background, Harry standing over the body of Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy’s wand and the Elder wand in his own triumphantly upheld hand. 

“Goddamn it,” he snarled. “I _told_ them.”

“I know,” Hermione said, curling both hands around his upper arm. “We tried, Harry. We really did. But you know how the Wizengamot is when they decide they’re going to do something. To them it’s all about how something makes them look; none of them were here to back you up, but they’ll be more than happy to take credit for it.”

Harry curled his lip. “Don’t be surprised if I blow them off their hinges before I leave.”

“Just so long as you let me know first,” she said. “So I can help.”

The idea of the Deputy Headmistress blowing the doors off of the castle amused Harry, and he chuckled. “I think I’d pay money to see that.”

“So would Ron.”

She grinned at him, pulling one of the doors open with apparent ease and letting him walk through in front of her. Once they were in the cavernous entry hall, and the castle’s warmth brushed over his face, Harry let out an audible sigh. It was as if he was being pulled into Hogwarts embrace.

At his side Hermione drew her wand and cast a Patronus with professional ease. 

“Have mulled cider brought to the Great Hall for Harry and me,” she instructed softly, and the giddy little otter grinned at her before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Harry felt a moment’s alarm. 

“The Great Hall,” he muttered, already aware of the attention of a few straggling students who were trailing through the entry hall. They were so young, he thought, returning their gazes. These people probably didn’t even remember there being a war; they’d either been baby’s or hadn’t been born yet. Harry turned his face to look up the long staircase, sparing a smile for a nearby suit of armor. He gave Harry a regal, creaking nod. 

“So, the Great Hall?” he said again. “We can’t go someplace a little less conspicuous?”

She gave him a long, level look. “Well, you can either get it over with tonight, or dread it until you turn up. Which would you rather?”

He sighed. “Tonight.” He hated being stared at, but he knew she was right.

“Good.” She gave him a brilliant smile, slipping her arm back through his. “Let’s go drink some mulled cider and have pork roast.”

He didn’t have to force the smile that spread across his face. “Pork roast. There’s nothing like Hogwarts pork roast.”

Hermione snorted. “Don’t let Molly hear you say that.

“Oh, I value my life, thanks.” They started up the stairs, and the pins and needles of returning blood flow tingled painfully through his toes. “Will Ron be joining us tonight?”

Hermione laughed. “It’s pork roast night; what do you think.”

Harry grinned. “I think he’s probably already up there.”

“Probably.”

When they walked across the upper hallway, past the alcoves of the armour, some still empty from where they’d been lost in battle, Harry felt a wave of nostalgia. He’d passed them every day for six years; it was odd to see some of them vacant. He could feel the attention of those still in place turn to him, and he returned respectful nods. He’d never known what to do with the castle’s deference, but as he grew older he was able to accept it a bit more gracefully.

When they entered the Great Hall, the happy chatter slowly faded to an uncomfortable silence. Harry stared at the roaring fire in the massive fireplace, and the six immense Christmas trees, one in each corner and two behind the head table. He heard a chair scrape back on the limestone floor, and then a throat cleared roughly. 

“If you would all be so kind as to stop staring,” Minerva said sternly. “Mr Potter has come back to Hogwarts for the first time in years, and I’m sure he would appreciate it if you all would mind your own business. Welcome home, Mr Potter.”

She gave him a stately nod, and he gave her a smile. The corner of her mouth twitched, which he found extremely amusing. 

Hermione looked up at him, apparently noticing his long hair for the first time. 

“Good heavens, Harry,” she muttered under her breath. “What is this?” She reached up and tugged on his ponytail, and he pulled his head away. 

“Ouch, Hermione.”

“You think that’s bad?” she asked. “Wait until…”

“Molly sees it. I know. Can we maybe get out of the middle of the floor?” 

He could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes, and all he wanted was something warm to drink, to take his weight off his painfully burning feet, and to not be the center of attention. 

“Oh, of course.” She pulled him down the long aisle and around the end of the staff table. 

“Harry!!”

Harry sighed. So much for keeping a low profile. He turned just as Ron ran around the end of the table and caught him up in a firm hug. He squeezed with one arm and banged on Harry’s back with his other hand. 

He’d been right back on Ginger, when he’d thought Ron could probably take him if it came to it. He was huge. 

“Merlin, Ron,” Hermione complained, yanking on her husband's arm, “don’t hurt him.”

Ron laughed. “Aw, he’s tougher than that.”

“Not so much,” Harry admitted when Ron released him. “Where are the kids?”

“With Mum and Dad,” Ron answered with a bright grin. “Hey, it’s pork roast night. I don’t want to be distracted by the rug rats.”

“Nice, Ronald.” Hermione scowled. “For that unflattering description of my children, I’m going to tell your mother that you prefer the house-elves roast.” 

“Oh, she knows.” Ron shrugged. “Why do you think she agreed to take the kids? She knows about me and my food.”

“Everyone knows about you and your food.”

The voice hadn’t changed much, other than that it was deeper. The tone was still posh, almost unbearable so, the pronunciation perfect, upper crust. Harry stiffened for a moment, looking at his best friends faces. Hermione merely shot an indulgent look over Harry’s shoulder. It was Ron who was a surprise. He laughed. 

“You’d be well advised not to get between me and my plate,” he quipped. 

“Oh, I like my fingers right where they are, thanks.”

Harry turned and found clear silvery gray eyes fixed to his face. 

Malfoy had always been handsome. Now, Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a man quite as beautiful. His features no longer appeared pointed but were patrician, elegant, and his lips were plump and pink. He was wearing black robes reminiscent of Snape, with a simple wool tunic, black wool trousers, and floor length teachers robes. Harry had an almost overwhelming urge to push him down on his back on the wide table and cover those pouting lips with his own. Having those thoughts about the man standing in front of him was disconcerting, and made his throat go dry. 

He heard a soft pop from his side, and saw two mugs of cider appear, whole star anise floating on the top near wedges of orange, two cinnamon sticks propped against the rim. Desperate for something, anything wet, Harry scooped up one of the mugs and took a drink. 

It was hot, too hot and he gasped, spitting cider down the front of his double-breasted coat. 

“Oh, very classy,” Malfoy said wryly. 

Hermione caught Harry’s eye and shook her head, a grin threatening. 

“Good to know some things never change.”

TBC


	6. Five-Year-Olds With Plans for World Domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part:

_Harry turned and found clear silvery gray eyes fixed to his face._

_Malfoy had always been handsome. Now, Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a man quite as beautiful. His features no longer appeared pointed but were patrician, elegant, and his lips were plump and pink. He was wearing black robes reminiscent of Snape, with a simple wool tunic, black wool trousers, and floor length teachers robes. Harry had an almost overwhelming urge to push him down on his back on the wide table and cover those pouting lips with his own. Having those thoughts about the man standing in front of him was disconcerting, and made his throat go dry._

_He heard a soft pop from his side, and saw two mugs of cider appear, whole star anise floating on the top near wedges of orange, two cinnamon sticks propped against the rim. Desperate for something, anything wet, Harry scooped up one of the mugs and took a drink._

_It was hot, too hot and he gasped, spitting cider down the front of his double-breasted coat._

_“Oh, very classy,” Malfoy said wryly._

_Hermione caught Harry’s eye and shook her head, a grin threatening._

_“Good to know some things never change.”_

Harry grabbed a linen napkin from under a place setting and patted at the small stain on his coat, feeling like an utter idiot. He moved his hand just as Malfoy drew his wand, and he stiffened. 

“Do you want me to take care of that or not?” Malfoy asked wryly. 

“I – that would be… nice,” Harry finally managed, his voice dry. 

Malfoy didn’t laugh, but it looked to be a near thing. He whispered a spell that wasn’t ‘Scourgify’, which was the only one Harry was familiar with. He didn’t recognize the one Malfoy used, but it worked far better. The stain simply vanished, the wet spot fading. When he dropped his wand, Harry ran his hand over the spotless wool. 

“Thank you,” he said, looking up and into Malfoy’s eyes, deciding that he was done acting the idiot for the night. “I appreciate it.”

Malfoy blinked. “You’re welcome.” He slipped his wand into the left sleeve of his outer robes, and Harry wondered fleetingly if his Mark had faded at all. He pushed the thought away.

“I’ve come with a message,” Malfoy said, linking his hands at his lower back and standing stiffly. He stood like he was at parade rest, and Harry realized he’d always stood like he was in the military. “Hagrid asked me to tell you that it’s too cold for you to come down tonight. He’s concerned that after spending so much time in the Caribbean, you might – catch something.” His lip curled but he didn’t make a sarcastic comment. “He’s secured the ill creatures in the paddock, and he’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry wasn’t disappointed; if he’d had to examine the animals tonight he’d have frozen his arse off. He was surprised, however, to find Malfoy as messenger. He briefly thought about making a snide comment, but Hermione spoke first. 

“Does he have any new cases?” Her brow was furrowed with concern, and Harry was startled when she reached out and gently touched Malfoy’s arm. 

Malfoy’s full mouth tightened, his eyes troubled. When he spoke, his voice was lowered. “The baby Thestral is showing symptoms.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, sounding near tears. “Oh, Hagrid must be frantic.”

“I doubt he’ll sleep much tonight.”

Harry turned to her. “Maybe I should go tonight anyway.”

She bit her lip, looking from Malfoy to Ron and back again. “Draco, what do you think?” she asked finally. 

He rocked back on his heels. “He already feels like a failure because he had to ask for help. I suggest following his wishes is probably the right course of action.”

There was a rush of conversation in the huge room when dinner appeared, plates on gleaming gold chargers, large roasts beautifully carved on serving dishes, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables in bowls on the side. Harry was worried about Hagrid, but his stomach also chose that moment to growl. Ron made a sound of amusement. 

“Ready for a Hogwarts dinner, Harry?” he asked. He pulled out a chair and sat down, then patted the back of the chair next to him. “Come on, Harry. Tuck in.”

Malfoy looked between the three of them. “Enjoy your dinner. And, uhm – Potter…” Harry raised a brow and waited for him to complete his thought. “Yes. Well. Uhm, welcome back.” He nodded stiffly, then turned and stalked away. 

Hermione made a sound that might’ve been a giggle, and Harry turned to smirk at her. 

“I haven’t heard you giggle in – a long time.”

Ron snorted as he loaded his plate up with everything he could reach. “That’s just because you haven’t been here, Mate. She giggles all the time.” He paused for a moment, looking up at Harry. “Will you sit down and eat, please? You’re making me feel like a pig, here.”

Harry pulled out Hermione’s chair and waited while she gracefully sat, giving her husband a wry look. “Oh, look; a gentleman.”

Ron gave Harry an irritated look as he took his own seat. “Are you trying to show me up, Harry?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. I just figure she ranks a good deal higher on the food chain than you do. I need to stay on her good side.”

Hermione giggled again as Ron huffed, and Harry reached for the serving fork on the plate with the roast.

_hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm_

Minerva came over after dinner and offered him a suite on the floor near the Headmaster’s rooms, but Hermione and Ron had already offered him their guest room. 

“I’d like to have the time with my friends, Professor, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course, Potter. I’ll see you at breakfast.” She gave him a regal nod, and as she turned away he heard her summon a house elf and request dinner be taken to ‘Professor Hagrid’. She seemed pleased when the small creature informed her it had already been done. 

After dinner, which was marked by a good bit of staring and whispering on the part of the students, he walked down the wide hallway between his two friends, feeling a deep sense of well-being flow over him. The castle felt warm around him, settled, content. Harry took and released a deep breath. 

Hermione gave him a hip check. “You all right?” 

Harry smiled at her. “I’m good.”

“So,” Ron said slowly. “What’s with the hair?”

Harry snorted out a laugh. “What about it?”

Ron gave him an eye roll. “Mate, you’ve got a man-bun.” 

Harry laughed again, delighted with the banter, realizing how much he’d missed it. 

“Hey,” he said, throwing his arm around Ron’s broad shoulders, “the blokes at the bar like getting their hands in it. Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” he went on when Ron made a face. “And by the way, what in the name of Merlin’s sagging pants is up with you?”

Ron looked at him. “What?”

“You’re _huge_. What’s that all about?”

Ron preened and flexed one muscled arm. “I’m an Auror, Mate. We’re supposed to be large and intimidating.”

“I feel like you could crush me like a bug.”

Hermione bumped her hip against his again. “You look wonderful,” she said. “You’re leaner, that’s all. You always have been. Like a swimmer, or a diver. You always have reminded me of Tom Daly, you know.”

Harry liked that comparison quite a bit. Ron scowled.

Ron and Hermione’s rooms were beautiful. There was a fire burning in in a very modern fireplace, garlands draped along the mantle. Their Christmas tree had to be at least nine feet tall, and the fairies perched on the branches perked up as they walked in, beginning to hum Silent Night. There were huge windows along one wall, and Harry could see the moon gleaming off the drifts of snow and the shifting water of the Black Lake. 

“This is beautiful,” he said, turning to take in each corner, admiring Hermione’s collection of ornaments her grandmother had made, all soft sided and made of burlap or checkered fabric, perched along the ledge of the windows. “It’s very modern for Hogwarts, isn’t it?”

“It was like this when we moved in,” Hermione said. “The castle decorated it, not me.” She looked around with a quietly pleased smile. “I do appreciate that Hogwarts took my tastes into consideration when preparing our rooms, though.”

“It looks like you,” Harry mused softly, smiling. “And absolutely nothing like the Headmistress’s quarters up in the tower.”

“You might be surprised,” she said. “Minerva’s made some changes.”

She wouldn’t elaborate further, but Harry knew he’d have to check it out before he returned to Ginger Island. 

About ten minutes after they entered Ron and Hermione’s rooms, just long enough for Ron to strip off and put on flannel sleep pants, a faded purple tee shirt and a fuzzy, orange robe (which was truly hideous), the fireplace expanded ten times in size and Arthur stepped out with Rose and Hugo.

“Harry!” he cried, handing two-year-old Hugo off to his mum so he could hug Harry. “Oh, Harry. Welcome home, lad! How we’ve missed you!”

Harry felt his eyes sting, and he wrapped his arms around this man who had been like a father to him and hugged him back hard. “It’s good to see you, Arthur.”

Arthur held him back and arms-length, looking him over from his head to his toes and back again. “You look wonderful! Molly is going to be beside herself when she finds out you’re back.”

Harry glanced over at Ron.

“We didn’t tell her because we weren’t sure you’d be able to get away. You know how she’d lose her nut if we told her you were coming, and then you couldn’t.”

“But you should prepare yourself,” Arthur said, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He reached up and gave Harry’s ponytail a light tug. “She might come after you with the scissors.”

“She has me,” Ron complained, picking up a mug of hot chocolate that had appeared on the counter. “I was damned near bald after the last time she ‘trimmed’ my hair. You want some?” He asked Harry, turning back to the kitchen cupboards without waiting for an answer. “Two more, please. Extra marshmallows on one.”

Hermione sidled up next to him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He caught her arm and pulled her into a lingering kiss, and Harry and Arthur exchanged indulgent looks. 

Harry felt a light tug on the bottom of his coat, and looked down to see five-year-old Rose staring up at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were narrowed, and with her hair pulled back into two pigtails that were full of wild ringlets she looked like nothing so much as a miniature, cross Hermione. 

He crouched down until he was at eye level. “Hullo.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you my Uncle Harry?”

His heart felt tight. He’d been gone so long this little person who was his god daughter didn’t know who he was. “I am.”

“You’ve been gone a long time,” she said, her brown eyes judging him and finding him wanting. 

He nodded solemnly. “I have. I’m sorry; I stayed away too long.”

“You made my Mummy cry.” 

Harry looked quickly to Hermione, in time to see the blush that spread across her cheeks. 

“I was pregnant with this one,” she said, bouncing baby Hugo, who stared at him with his fingers in his mouth and drool on his chin, on her hip. “Everything made me cry.”

“Or throw things,” Ron said, smiling tolerantly. “It was a wild ride, Mate, I’m here to tell you.”

“Oh, you hush,” Hermione scolded. “And Miss Rose, it isn’t nice to scold a grown up, is it?”

“You scold Daddy.”

Arthur sputtered and turned away and Ron bent to give his daughter a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“That’s daddy’s girl.”

Rose smiled for a moment, then turned back to Harry. She studied him as if sizing him up. “Mummy says you take care of animals.”

“Mummy’s right,” Harry said. “That’s what I do.”

Rose finally sighed, uncrossing her arms. She shook her finger at him. “Don’t you make my mummy cry again.”

Harry returned her level look. One thing he’d learned on the island, usually when he was surrounded by Anya’s family, complete with a dozen children between the ages of six months and four years, was never to tease a child who was trying to make a point.

“I’ll do everything I can not to hurt your Mummy, ever again.”

Rose held up her tiny pinkie finger. “Pinkie swear?”

Harry curled the smallest finger on his right hand around it, squeezing softly. The difference between his darkly tanned skin and her pink baby soft skin was startling. “Pinkie swear,” he promised seriously.

“Okay,” Rose announced. “You can be my friend.”

She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking both of them to the floor, then climbed him like a little monkey. He stood up, bracing her on his hip. She touched his face, her touch gentle against his stubbly chin. She giggled. 

“Spiky,” she said, rubbing her thumbnail against the grain on the bristles. “Daddy’s is softer.”

“It’s true,” Harry said solemnly. 

“I like the black.” She cupped his cheek with her chubby hand, staring at him for a long minute. “You’re pretty,” she said finally, and Arthur let out a snort of laughter.

“Rose Granger-Weasley,” Hermione said, sounding scandalized. “You don’t tell men they are pretty!”

“Ah, but he is,” Ron said, holding up his cocoa. Two more cups had appeared, along with another that was much smaller and piled high with tiny marshmallows. “Even if he is stubbly.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Hermione sighed. “No wonder she says the things she does.”

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Arthur said, smiling fondly and rubbing noses with his grand-daughter. “She’s going to take over the world, and we’ll all go willingly.”

Harry smiled at the little girl, thinking Arthur was probably right. 

TBC


	7. Furry Palms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part:

_“I’ll do everything I can not to hurt your Mummy, ever again.”_

_Rose held up her tiny pinkie finger. “Pinkie swear?”_

_Harry curled the smallest finger on his right hand around it, squeezing softly. The difference between his darkly tanned skin and her pink baby soft skin was startling. “Pinkie swear,” he promised seriously._

_“Okay,” Rose announced. “You can be my friend.”_

_She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking both of them to the floor, then climbed him like a little monkey. He stood up, bracing her on his hip. She touched his face, her touch gentle against his stubbly chin. She giggled._

_“Spiky,” she said, rubbing her thumbnail against the grain on the bristles. “Daddy’s is softer.”_

_“It’s true,” Harry said solemnly._

_“I like it black.” She cupped his cheek with her chubby hand, staring at him for a long minute. “You’re pretty,” she said finally, and Arthur let out a snort of laughter._

_“Rose Granger-Weasley,” Hermione said, sounding scandalized. “You don’t tell men they are pretty!”_

_“Ah, but he is,” Ron said, holding up his cocoa. Two more cups had appeared, along with another that was much smaller and piled high with tiny marshmallows. “Even if he is stubbly.”_

_“Oh, good Lord,” Hermione sighed. “No wonder she says the things she does.”_

_“It’s all right, Hermione,” Arthur said, smiling fondly and rubbing noses with his grand-daughter. “She’s going to take over the world, and we’ll all go willingly.”_

_Harry smiled at the little girl, thinking Arthur was probably right._

He slept well in Ron and Hermione’s very comfortable guest room. It was homier than the sitting room and dining room, a large rock fireplace not far from the bed, which was made with comfy quilts and soft flannel sheets. He’d showered and shaved, then pulled his long hair up to his crown and doubled it over. Yeah, it was a man bun, but it was easier than dealing with his hair when it was shorter and all over the place. He was standing at the foot of the bed wearing heavy corduroys he hadn’t worn since Vet School at Cambridge. They still fit, which was gratifying. He hadn’t pulled on a shirt yet when Hermione poked her head in for just a moment, that girlish giggle appearing once again.

“What?” Harry asked, tucking his shaving kit back into his luggage. 

“The room. It changes for whoever is staying here,” she said. “For my parents, the bed is bigger and the walls are shiplap, like theirs at home. You have to understand; they’re very open-minded but staying here is still odd for them.”

“How are they?” 

“They’re good,” she said, smiling. “There are some holes that will probably never be filled in their memories, but they remember me. Which is about all I could hope for, honestly. And they do understand why I did it.”

“I’m glad they’re doing all right.” Harry pulled another heavy knit jumper, this one navy blue, from his bag and laid it on the top quilt.

“By the way, I did stick my head in here for a reason.” She grinned at him. “Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee,” Harry answered, and it was a testament to how much she’d changed that she didn’t make any disparaging comments about his taste. 

“Do you want to have breakfast here, or down in the Great Hall?”

He bit his lower lip for a minute. “Here, if it’s all right with you. I’ve had enough of being stared at for the first twenty-four hours.”

“You know that isn’t going to change. These kids haven’t really seen you before, but they’ve been brought up on your legend. And you are sort of a big deal around this school.”

Harry scowled. “I hate those fucking doors. What the hell is that all about?”

“Politics,” she said with a shrug. “If you hate the doors, the plaque in the Great Hall is really going to make your day.”

Harry frowned, hands on hips. “What plaque?”

“The one in the middle of the floor that says; On this spot, on May second 1998, Harry James Potter killed Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort…”

Harry scowled. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Well, thanks for the offer. You are looking rather fit, and the tan is quite attractive. But I’m happily married.”

“You’re adorable,” he said with an eyeroll, pulling a dark gray tee shirt on over his head. 

She gave him a bright grin. “My husband certainly thinks so.”

Harry added the dark sweater over the tee shirt. “Okay, I need coffee if there’s going to be much more of this.” He picked up a pair of boots he’d worn maybe twice during tropical storms on the Island, and he’d had to troop out through the muddy paddocks. They looked brand new, and they’d been the only footwear he owned that was even mildly appropriate. And his trainers were still soaked through from the night before.

Hermione smiled and led the way into her breakfast room.

Ron was sitting at the table in front of a plate piled high with sausage, bacon and eggs. Rose was sitting next to him and Hugo was strapped into a high-chair. 

“Unkka Harry!” he shouted, waving his pudgy hands in the air. 

“Oh, well done, Mate,” Harry said, giving the little boy a big smile. 

Rose looked very pleased with herself. “I taught him.”

“You did?” Harry sat next to her, smiling his thanks when Hermione brought him a large mug of hot coffee. “You did well.”

“Thank you,” Rose preened. “But Hugo actually is very smart.”

“I’m not surprised.” Harry took a sip of his hot coffee and felt the warmth spread through him clear to his toes. 

“Lord, Ronald. Are you determined to eat an entire pig this morning?” Hermione asked, her hands on her hips. She looked a bit like Molly when she did that, but he’d never tell her that. 

Ron’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” She shook her head and turned away, collecting a bowl of cereal from the counter and sitting across from Harry. 

Moments later breakfast appeared before Harry, a true English fry up arranged on the plate complete with fried eggs, English bacon, sausage, mushrooms, sliced tomatoes, beans and fried bread. He made a sound of deep appreciation and picked up his fork. It had been years since he’d had a proper fry up, and even though he doubted he could eat it all, he planned to make a dent in it. 

The Granger-Weasley breakfast table reminded Harry of breakfast with the Weasley’s. It was noisy, and raucous, with Hugo bellowing ‘Unkka Harry’ every few seconds, Ron chomping away at his fried toast after he’d scooped beans onto it, and Hermione daintily eating a bowl of what looked like bran cereal. Rosie was taking tiny bites of one of the biggest apples he’d ever seen. 

After Hugo had screeched, ‘Unkka Harry!’ for the fifth time, Rose gave a very adult sounding sigh.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taught him that,” she said. Hugo howled with laughter. 

Harry was about half-way through his breakfast when a knock sounded on the door of Ron and Hermione’s quarters. Hermione went to answer as Ron and Harry made inroads in their breakfasts.

Harry heard voices approaching and glanced towards the large sitting room. He nearly spilled beans down his jumper when he saw who was with Hermione; Malfoy walked easily at Hermione’s side, wearing dark gray robes much like the ones he’d worn the day before. The biggest difference between this Draco and the one Harry had gone to school with, was his hair; there wasn’t a bit of gel on it, and it was feathered softly around his face. Harry liked it, a lot more than he was prepared to admit.

“Someone to see you,” Hermione said, making a bad effort of looking completely casual.

“To see me?” Ron said, looking a bit gobsmacked.

“No. Harry.” She picked up her cereal and took a dainty bite. “Coffee, Draco?”

He licked his lips uncomfortably. “No, thank you. Uh, Potter –

Harry hadn’t taken his eyes away from Malfoy since he paused by the table. Malfoy had been quite determinedly _not_ looking at Harry, but now he met his gaze. 

“You’re here to see me?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I assume you plan to go down and see Hagrid and his charges this morning, and I was wondering if I might – tag along.”

Harry knew his brows had shot up. “You – want to tag along with me?”

“If you’ve no objections.”

Harry didn’t have any, not really. Aside from being quite sure he’d make an utter arse of himself. “No, that’s fine,” Harry said after what was becoming an uncomfortable pause. “Let me finish up here and we can go.”

By the time Harry finished his plate Hermione had taken the rest of a pot of coffee and poured it into a thermos, and Ron had excused himself to go into another part of their rooms Harry hadn’t seen yet. He returned a few moments later, his Auror robes over one shoulder, holding something furry and tan in his other hand. 

“So, Mate, I noticed last night you weren’t wearing gloves, which is just crazy.” He had a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes, and Harry was immediately on the defensive. “Mum gave me these for Christmas a couple of years back, and of course, being your best friend and worried about your well-being, I immediately thought of you.” He dropped the pair of – something next to Harry’s plate. “I’m sure they’ll be warm.”

Harry picked one up and saw that they were gloves patterned to look like a pair of hedgehogs, complete with ‘spines’ made of wool all along the back that were darker at the roots, black button eyes and a tiny, stitched black wool nose. They’d be very cute – on Hugo.

Harry shot Ron an exasperated look. 

“Oh, Uncle Harry,” Rose cried. “I just love those. They’re so cute! I wish they’d fit me.”

“So does Uncle Harry,” Hermione said softly, sounding much more amused than his best friend ought to. Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand, looking as if the desire to laugh was growing more uncomfortable by the moment. 

Harry stood up, shoving his chair back. “Thanks so much, Ron,” he said with a flinty smile, “I’ll be looking for the chance to pay you back for this at the earliest opportunity.” 

“You know,” Malfoy said slowly, sounding both posh, and alarmingly amused, “If that pattern were slightly different, and the spines were on the palms, I could tell you precisely what caused it. Even perhaps give you a potion for it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re hilarious,” Harry said, a clear warning in his tone. Malfoy held back just a touch as they headed for the door. 

“Mummy,” Harry heard Rose say, “What did Draco mean? Is it bad if the fur is on the other side?”

“Draco,” Hermione called after him. “Perhaps you would care to explain?”

But Draco sped up and nudged Harry aside as he stepped out the door.

TBC


	8. Bird Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part:  
> 

_Harry picked one up and saw that they were gloves patterned to look like a pair of hedgehogs, complete with ‘spines’ made of wool all along the back that were darker at the roots, black button eyes and a tiny, stitched black wool nose. They’d be very cute – on Hugo._

_Harry shot Ron an exasperated look._

_“Oh, Uncle Harry,” Rose cried. “I just love those. They’re so cute! I wish they’d fit me.”_

_“So does Uncle Harry,” Hermione said softly, sounding much more amused than his best friend ought to. Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand, looking as if the desire to laugh was growing more uncomfortable by the moment._

_Harry stood up, shoving his chair back. “Thanks so much, Ron,” he said with a flinty smile, “I’ll be looking for the chance to pay you back for this at the earliest opportunity.”_

_“You know,” Malfoy said slowly, sounding both posh, and alarmingly amused, “If that pattern were slightly different, and the spines were on the palms, I could tell you precisely what caused it. Even perhaps give you a potion for it.”_

_Harry narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re hilarious,” Harry said, a clear warning in his tone. Malfoy held back just a touch as they headed for the door._

_“Mummy,” Harry heard Rose say, “What did Draco mean? Is it bad if the fur is on the other side?”_

_“Draco,” Hermione called after him. “Perhaps you would care to explain?”_

_But Draco sped up and nudged Harry aside as he stepped out the door._

“Chicken Shite,” Harry said softly when they were far enough away from the door that he wasn’t leaving more questions for Hermione behind.

Malfoy shot him an affronted look. “Me? I’m not the one who’s been hiding on a Caribbean Island for the last five years.”

Harry returned the insulted look. “I was doing my residency, you prat.”

“And there weren’t any programs where you could do your residency in England, then?” Malfoy arched an imperious eyebrow. “Not that I blame you, mind. If I’d just made myself uncomfortably famous by offing a Dark Lord, I might have found myself a nice island somewhere to hide, too.”

Harry suddenly wanted to hit him, and he was forcefully reminded of why he and Malfoy had always faced each other at the tip of wands. 

“Are you trying to piss me off?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Because it’s working.”

Malfoy looked startled. “I – wasn’t, actually. I think I just fall into default mode with you.”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “I think I do the same.” He pushed his hands, covered in the silly hedgehog gloves, into the pockets of his coat. “I don’t suppose we could take a deep breath before we automatically go after one another, and then maybe – not?”

Malfoy pursed his lips. “I make no promises, Potter. I’ve been doing it so long I may not be capable of anything else. But – I’ll will give it a try.”

Harry swallowed a grin. “I’ll do the same.”

They fell into step at that, coming down the long upstairs hallway that led to main staircase, descending it side by side. Harry thought it might be the first comfortable silence they’d shared, possibly ever. 

They were crossing the entry hall when a girl in Slytherin robes, perhaps fifteen-years-old, approached them.

“Professor Malfoy?” she said hesitantly.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Harry murmured. Malfoy shot him a look.

“Shut it, you,” he hissed back, then turned to the student. “Yes, Johnstone?”

“I just wanted to verify, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between Malfoy’s and Harry’s faces. “The essay on transfiguring a table into a chair? It’s due on the twentieth?”

“Yes, Johnstone,” Malfoy said, watching her face indulgently. “It is due on the twentieth. Is there anything else?”

“Uhm, well, sir, I – uhm.” Her words sputtered into silence, and Harry was about to take pity on her. He was startled when Malfoy did it first. 

“Olivia Johnstone, allow me to present Dr Harry Potter,” he shot Harry a side-eye, “And you want to talk weird,” he whispered. Harry nearly laughed. “Dr Potter, this is fifth year Slytherin Olivia Johnstone. All current evidence to the contrary, she’s usually extremely articulate.”

“Be nice,” he whispered. He offered his hand, which Olivia took after a moments hesitation. “Hi, Olivia. I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.”

“Dr Potter,” she said faintly. “It’s an honour, sir.”

“Harry, Olivia,” he said firmly. “No one calls me Dr Potter.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, sir.” She shook her head. “My mother would never forgive me if she knew I was so disrespectful.”

“Give it up, Potter,” Malfoy said. “A Slytherin isn’t going to call you Harry.” His lips curled to the side. “It just isn’t done.”

Harry shook his head. “Slytherins,” he muttered. “All right, Olivia. If you must call me Dr Potter, I won’t give you a hard time. I’m sure I’ll see you around campus before you’re off for hols.”

She smiled widely. “Yes, sir.” When she turned and all but skipped away, Malfoy made a sound of disgust in his throat. “Teen-age girls,” he muttered. 

They started for the heavy entry doors once again, and Harry got to them first, grabbing the handle and pulling them open. It was surprisingly easy. Malfoy preceded him into the cold, brisk morning. 

“Merlin,” Harry gasped when the cold air slammed into his face. “It’s so fucking cold here.”

Malfoy gave him an amused look. “Poor Potter. The tropical climate ruined you for England?”

Harry turned his collar up around his neck. “Piss off. Someday I would love to see you on Ginger, trying to be comfortable in your wools and your cashmere’s when it’s 33 degrees.” 

Malfoy raised one arched brow, and Harry realized belatedly how that must sound. Malfoy wasn’t about to miss the opportunity.

“Is that an invitation?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry answered flippantly. “Why not? You’d melt to a puddle. Might be amusing to watch.”

They started down a path that had been worn into the snow by the trudging feet of hundreds of students on their way to the greenhouses, veering off to take a divergent path that led through a stand of fir trees. They were under the overhang of heavy branches, and the rich, clean scent of pine filled the air. Moments later the trilling, bright sound of bird song rose above the sound of young voices coming from the greenhouses. Harry recognized it and looked up into the snow dusted branches. 

Just ahead of them, perched on the uppermost limbs of large pyracantha bush, was a large male cardinal. Its plumage was vivid red from the feathers on his head to those on his tail. His mask was black, his beak orange, and as Harry watched he opened his beak and called again. Harry slipped off his gloves, cupping his hands around his mouth. Harry trilled back, and Malfoy looked at him in surprise. 

“What did you say?” he asked, and Harry grinned. Malfoy was the first person who had ever assumed he and the birds were having a conversation.

“Just that I was here,” he answered. “Male, but non-threatening. In other words, I’m not in search of a mate.”

Malfoy grinned, and Harry felt his heart shift. He was so very handsome when he smiled. 

“He’d find that reassuring, would he?”

“Very. Cardinals don’t have a terribly long-life span, and they tend to mate for life. He doesn’t need the competition. Although with that plumage and facemask he should be fine. The girls will be lining up.”

Malfoy studied him for a long moment. “I thought you were a large animal specialist.”

“I am,” Harry said easily. “But I’m also a Vet. I should have a passing knowledge, at least, of all animals. Besides,” Harry smiled as the cardinal flew away and he watched the splash of red that soared through the bright blue morning sky, “I love cardinals. Even tropical birds aren’t brighter. The males, anyway.”

“Isn’t it typical,” Malfoy said ironically. “Females get up the duff and lay the eggs, and the males have the brilliant plumage. It’s that with most species, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled. “Well, I do know some males who like to flash their plumage. Most of them are interested in other males, however.”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m going to assume we’re no longer talking about birds.”

Harry grinned. “Safe assumption.”

They broke from the cover of trees, and Harry saw Hagrid’s hut down below. Happiness filled his chest, and his grin widened to a smile. He’d missed Hagrid, and his old friend was no better a correspondent than he was. The snow on the path here was muddied with hoof prints, and they took a curve in the trail and several paddocks came into view. When he saw one containing enormous blond draft horses, their tails and manes white, Harry made a sound of surprise.

“What are Madame Maxime's Abraxan’s doing here?”

“Harry!!”

The big voice boomed out in the crisp air, and Harry turned to see the half giant making his laborious way down the steps leading to his large hut. He moved slowly, limping on his left side, and the joy Harry felt on seeing him morphed into concern.

“Hagrid,” he said when they were close enough he wouldn’t have to shout. Up close he could see new gray in Hagrid’s hair and beard, and deeper lines around his eyes and mouth. Even with the evidence of aging all over his face, his hug still felt like it might crack Harry’s ribs. He gasped when Hagrid released him, patting the wide back as he caught his breath.

“Oh, it’s good ta see ya, lad,” Hagrid said, grinning. “Look at yer skin! Ya look like a native!”

Harry smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

Hagrid made a teasing pass at Harry’s man-bun with his beefy hand. “And what’s this, then?”

Harry yanked playfully at the long hair resting on Hagrid’s shoulders. “As if you have room to talk. I’ve been too busy to be bothered; what’s your excuse?”

“Me? I’ve always worn it this way, least since I quit growin’.”

“Well, my excuse is not nearly as good. I’ve been to busy to worry about my hair. I might get it cut before I see Molly, or I might act like a grown man and keep it however I please.”

Hagrid laughed, the sound booming across the snow-covered lawn. “If ya manage that, let me know. Think I’d pay ta see it.”

Harry grinned, then gestured to the paddock containing the huge horses. “So, when did this happen?”

Hagrid’s happy expression faded. “Ah, Olympe broke her hip in September and couldn’t see after them anymore. I went an brought them here not long after. She’ll come’n get em. You know, if she can.”

Harry nodded, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked the paddock line. He whistled softly under his breath and two of the massive beasts turned their head, searching for the source of the sound. He gave the soft sound again, and one of the returned it, the noise nearly identical. Moments later, the beast walked to the fence, huge head lowered, liquid brown eyes studying Harry.

“Hello, you beauty,” Harry murmured, reaching up to pet the smooth, velvety nose. It made him homesick for Amala, and he wondered how her leg was. 

“You sure do have a way with ‘em, don’t ya, lad?” 

Harry rubbed up the animal’s wide muzzle. “I like them, too.” He closed his eyes and concentrated, and he could feel the smooth, steady beat of the enormous heart. He didn’t detect any imperfections or malformations in the animal's lifelines, and he smiled slightly.

“Using a generous hand with the malt whiskey, eh, Hagrid?”

The half-giant blushed. “They like it.”

“You like it,” Harry teased. 

“Well, a man does what he has to ta keep warm, don’t he?”

“Sounds like a reasonable excuse to me,” Malfoy said lightly. Hagrid patted him on the back, hard enough to send him forward a step, and Harry was surprised when he didn’t say a word, just firmed his stance. 

“So, Hagrid,” Harry lowered his hand, smoothing it over the horses muscled chest. Finally, he dropped it to his side and turned. “You sent for me. What’s going on?”

Hagrid sighed, and it sounded like he was carrying the weight of a hundred years' worth of worry. “Something is sickening my beasties, Harry.” Tears filled his dark brown eyes. “An if you can’t do somethin’, I’m afraid we’re going to lose the lot.” He sniffed loudly, then dug his huge handkerchief out of the pocket of his ancient moleskin coat. 

Harry inhaled sharply. “How’s the baby Thestral?”

Hagrid shook his big head. “I don’ know what ta do, Harry.”

Harry fought down his alarm and curled his hand as far as he could around Hagrid’s massive forearm, giving gave him a squeeze. 

“Take me to her.”

TBC


	9. Snowflakes and Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part:

_“You sure do have a way with ‘em, don’t ya, lad?”_

_Harry rubbed up the animal’s wide muzzle. “I like them, too.” He closed his eyes and concentrated, and he could feel the smooth, steady beat of the enormous heart. He didn’t detect any imperfections or malformations in the animal’s lifelines, and he smiled slightly._

_“Using a generous hand with the malt whiskey, eh, Hagrid?”_

_The half-giant blushed. “They like it.”_

_“You like it,” Harry teased._

_“Well, a man does what he has to ta keep warm, don’t he?”_

_“Sounds like a reasonable excuse to me,” Malfoy said lightly. Hagrid patted him on the back, hard enough to send him forward a step, and Harry was surprised when he didn’t say a word, just firmed his stance._

_“So, Hagrid,” Harry lowered his hand, smoothing it over the horses muscled chest. Finally, he dropped it to his side and turned. “You sent for me. What’s going on?”_

_Hagrid sighed, and it sounded like he was carrying the weight of a hundred year’s worth of worry. “Something is sickening my beasties, Harry.” Tears filled his dark brown eyes. “An if you can’t do somethin’, I’m afraid we’re going to lose the lot.” He sniffed loudly, then dug his huge handkerchief out of the pocket of his ancient moleskin coat._

_Harry inhaled sharply. “How’s the baby thestral?”_

_Hagrid shook his big head. “I don’ know what ta do, Harry.”_

_Harry fought down his alarm and curled his hand as far as he could around Hagrid’s massive forearm, giving him a reassuring squeeze._

_“Take me to her.”_

Thestrals were not ‘paddock friendly’ creatures. They didn’t like fences, and if they wanted out, which they were sure to, they simply flew away. As a result, they were still in the forest where they’d always been and as the three men walked a short distance into the Dark Forest, Harry inhaled deeply. He could smell the mulch and the moss, the rich scents of pine and oak trees. There was even a faint whiff of animals, equine in nature but – not really. It was more like old leather mixed with horse, and Harry felt a rush of nostalgia. The memory of flying through the night sky with his face pressed to a strong, black neck, huge leathery wings spread out on either side of him. That night at the Department of Mysteries had changed his life, and the beast seemed to know what was coming, somehow; it nudged the side of Harry’s face gently before lifting into the sky and disappearing. 

Now he was widely considered to be one of three verified experts on the strange, beautiful beasts but as the three men cleared the trees and entered the clearing where they lived, he felt unequal to his own reputation. The Thestrals were huddled together near a stand of trees, and Harry was glad to see the herd had grown, even with the loss of three of them. At the moment they were clearly unsettled. Harry sensed another group of large beasts nearby and glanced at Hagrid.

“How much time have the centaurs spent here?”

Hagrid looked surprised but didn’t hesitate. “A bit. They seem to be guarding the Thestrals from sumpin’. It’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen.”

“And the unicorns,” Harry asked. “They’re gathering here, too?”

Now Hagrid looked startled. “How do ye know that?”

Harry touched the tip of his nose. “I can smell them. It’s like – freshias, and gardenias. But they moved further into the trees when they heard us coming.” Harry moved closer to the skeletal beasts, and three of the big males moved to block the females and foals, making deep throated sounds of warning. Harry stopped. “I’d suggest the two of you step back, keeping your back to a big tree,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. When they didn’t immediately move, he turned a sharp look on them. “I mean it. They’re skittish, and frightened, and they won’t trust anyone right now.” He stared at Hagrid. “Even you.” He turned to Malfoy. “Please.”

Malfoy blinked, then backed into an ancient oak, reaching back to touch it, his fingers moving restlessly over the bark. Hagrid followed, positioning his body to defend Malfoy if necessary. Once they were in a more easily defended position, Harry closed his eyes and waited.

He’d been aware that dying for a second time changed something fundamental in his DNA. He’d been a bit busy to notice when it happened, but within days something important was different. Once the battle was over, and he’d slept the clock around for a twenty-four-hour stretch in the Gryffindor tower, he’d gone to the Burrow with Ron and Hermione. He and Ginny suddenly seemed unable to talk to one another, and he’d gone outside after they’d had a row one beautiful summer morning, sitting on a bench in the middle of Molly’s kitchen garden. 

He’d heard the garden gnomes fussing in the small patch of string beans Molly carefully tended, the vines curling around taut twine tied to a worn wooden frame. Harry couldn’t see them, but he could hear them when he’d never been able to before. They were upset about the battle, afraid their lives were in danger and they had no way to find out what had happened. They knew something was wrong with ‘their family’, but they couldn't ask what was going on. Without thinking about it, Harry sat on the dark, rich dirt near where the group of creatures were arguing in shrill little voices. 

“It’s all right,” he said softly. The voices cut off abruptly, and Harry could feel them, listening. “The battle is over. You’ll be fine.”

They didn’t speak English, but Harry could sense what they wanted to know. “Yes,” he offered sadly, no longer speaking aloud. He could tell that if he kept his communication internal, they found it easier to decipher. “One of the two is gone. But the rest of the family is here, and they won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe.”

That seemed to be all they needed to know, and they returned to what they’d been doing before, whatever that was, voices fading. Harry had no idea; apparently he could only hear them when they were in distress. 

Over the next two weeks while he lived at the Burrow and Ron and Hermione made plans to go to Australia to find her parents, Harry began to feel something was different, something inside him. 

Ginny broke up with him, much to Molly’s displeasure, but Harry really didn’t care. He was too busy trying to figure out why he could suddenly hear the thoughts of the crows troubling Molly’s cornfield, (they were so stupid it hurt his head) and how he knew the reason the pregnant cow wasn’t having her calf was because it was breach. It was one of the weirder moments of his life when he’d somehow known the only way that baby was getting born was if the Vet reached in and turned it. Grateful the man arrived in time to do it did not begin to express Harry’s appreciation; he couldn’t begin to imagine the look of horror on Molly’s face if he’d done it himself, and he’d been so concerned about the life of the poor cow he’d been about to. He was convinced that second brush with death had made him lose his mind. The Vet was so impressed he’d invited Harry to hang about in the clinic while Ron and Hermione we gone that summer. By the time they returned, he was halfway through his first semester of school.

The small Thestral was cowering behind her mother, her little limbs shaking as if she was cold, but she wasn’t. In the same way the baby dragon on Ginger was a hot-blooded creature, this baby Thestral should be thriving in the cold. Harry nodded to the three big stallions who stepped out of his way, eyeing him with open hostility but for some reason even they didn’t understand, willing to let him through. Harry made soothing noises to the worried Mum, then knelt on the frozen ground. There wasn’t much snow here under the trees but it was bitter cold. He pulled one of the ugly gloves from his hand and pressed it against the trembling baby’s side. 

She was hungry. It was the first thought that came to him; she wanted raw meat as much as she wanted her next breath. But he could sense that even if he should be able to get her some, she wouldn’t be able to swallow it. It would stick in her throat, never making it to her stomach, and she whimpered weakly. 

“It’s all right, baby girl,” he murmured, not sure it actually was. He stood, caressing her bony head in passing as he went back to Hagrid and Malfoy, still standing pressed against the trees. 

“Hagrid, do you have any fresh raw meat on hand?”

Hagrid looked nonplused, but he nodded. “I’ve some giant t-bones for Fang.”

This was Fang number two, a giant Great Dane, with floppy ears and a tail as big around as Harry’s wrist.

“Those’ll do. And do you still have that big meat grinder?”

“It’s in the shed. Why?”

“We’re going to need to clean it up, and we haven’t a lot of time. That little girl is in trouble. She needs food.”

Hagrid looked alarmed. “Well, let’s get to it, then. We can’t lose another one.”

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

Harry gently removed a feeding tube from the baby Thestrals narrow throat but she didn’t fight him; he left his hand on her head, rubbing the prominent bones in front of her ears, and she leaned into his touch. They’d managed to get six ounces of ground steak and blood down her throat, and he could feel the improvement in her condition. The moment he stood and stepped back she toddled to her Mum and they rubbed noses. He smiled slightly as he watched. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, though. This was a stopgap measure at best. In order for her to grow and thrive, she’d have to be able to eat for herself. Right now the muscles in her throat weren’t functioning properly, even though there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with her. The more time he spent around the Thestrals, the more convinced he was there was some sort of curse involved. He stepped back, picking up the equipment he’d used and walking back to where Hagrid and Malfoy stood, watching.

“We’ll have to do it again in a few hours, but she’s okay for now.”

“What is it do ya’ think, Harry?”

Harry looked back at the baby, now happily hopping and bumping into her Mum’s legs. “I’m not sure, Hagrid. I think I need to see Ms Pince in the library, do a bit of research.”

Malfoy smirked at him. “Research? Granger will turn somersaults from pure joy.”

Harry sent Malfoy a dark look. “I know how to research,” he complained. “You don’t get through any kind of medical school without being able to.”

Malfoy arched one of his mobile brows. “Well, there’s me told.”

Harry shook his head. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

For a moment it looked as if he might’ve actually hurt Malfoy’s feelings, but the thought was there are gone with the changing expressions on Malfoy’s handsome features. 

“None a that now, you two,” Hagrid said. “And I think you might be surprised, Harry.” He picked up the supplies Harry had used and led the way out of the forest, and Harry felt guilty, as if he’d insulted Hagrid somehow. Which was silly. He supposed. Malfoy fell into step beside him and they walked most of the way in silence. Finally, he turned to Harry, discomfort emanating from him in waves. 

“Potter, that was – well, that was impressive, back there. She looked so much better after your treatment.”

Harry was gobsmacked. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

The blush that spread across Malfoy’s cheeks was utterly charming, and Harry felt a sudden, slow swoop in the pit of his stomach. He took a quick breath and looked away, just in time to notice that it had clouded over while they’d been in the forest, and the first fluffy snowflakes began to fall. Harry reached out instinctively and caught a few on his hand, and smiled faintly when he saw the magical shape of each one, entirely different, entirely perfect. Even before he’d known about magic he’d thought each first snow, even on Privet Drive, just a little bit enchanted. 

“What are you smiling at?” Malfoy asked. Harry almost told him to mind his own business, then for whatever reason, didn’t. 

“Look,” he said, holding up his hand. “The snowflakes. They’re – " He shrugged.

“Different, but perfect.” The words left Malfoy’s lips, and just like that, Harry wanted very much to kiss him.

TBC


	10. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:

_“Potter, that was – well, that was impressive, back there. She looked so much better after your treatment.”_

_Harry was gobsmacked. “Did you just give me a compliment?”_

_The blush that spread across Malfoy’s cheeks was utterly charming, and Harry felt a sudden, slow swoop in the pit of his stomach. He took a quick breath and looked away, just in time to notice that it had clouded over while they’d been in the forest, and the first fluffy snowflakes began to fall. Harry reached out instinctively and caught a few on his hand and smiled faintly when he saw the magical shape of each one, entirely different, entirely perfect. Even before he’d known about magic he’d thought each first snow, even on Privet Drive, just a little bit enchanted._

_“What are you smiling at?” Malfoy asked. Harry almost told him to mind his own business; then for whatever reason, he didn’t._

_“Look,” he said, holding up his hand. “The snowflakes. They’re – unique.“ He shrugged._

_“Each different, but perfect.” Malfoy smiled, catching a few on his own black leather gloves._

_Just like that, Harry wanted very much to kiss him._

If he hadn’t been carrying a tube smeared with baby Thestral spit and the leavings of raw meat, he might have been tempted to try. He thought it was probably a good thing his hands were occupied. 

There was a long pause while Malfoy continued to catch snowflakes in his palm like a joyful child, and Harry finally looked away out over the wide expanse of lawn When they broke through the tree line, they stepped out into a moderate snow fall, dusting Hagrid’s hut and the trees on the covered lawn with a dusting of new, purest white. He looked toward the majestic castle in the distance, and he was torn; the concern about the animals weighed him down, but the sight of Hogwarts lifted him. It was a very odd experience. 

Then he saw someone running towards him through the snow, black robes flaring out behind him, and alarm flared in his chest. 

“Who – “ he began, and Malfoy turned to look. He snorted.

“Some Godfather you are.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s not – “ 

“Fifteen-year-old’s grow, Potter. Just because you didn’t get a growth spurt until you were twenty five.”

Harry couldn’t help it; he smiled. “Oh, shut it, you arsehole.”

Nothing more could be said because Teddy Lupin and his new six inches of height was on them. Harry tossed the apparatus in his ands aside, catching the lanky teenager up in a fierce hug. 

“Uncle Harry!” he cried joyously, wrapping his arms around Harry’s body and squeezing; hard. Harry gasped, patting Ted on the back and hoping for air. 

“Ted,” he finally gasped. “Let me breathe.”

“Oh, sorry.” 

He released Harry and stepped back, his hands remaining on Harry’s upper arms. Harry curled his hand around the back of Ted’s head, his fingers sinking into his thick, teal coloured hair. 

“Good God, you’ve grown a foot!” Harry said, shocked by just how tall the boy really was. Last time he’d seen Teddy, he’s still been much taller. Now Ted was within just of few inches of being taller than Harry. “What in the name of Merlin’s beard are they feeding you kids here?”

“Same as usual.” The boy smiled, his brown eyes gleaming. 

Ted Lupin, despite the loss of his parents just as he was beginning his life, was one of the happiest people Harry had ever met. He looked like his Dad but had his mother’s infectious joy. He also shared her Animagus capabilities and took transparent delight in entertaining his Weasley ‘cousins’. They first time Harry saw him produce a duck bill, he’d looked quickly to Ginny and they’d both had tears in their eyes.

Ted had been folded into the Weasley clan just as easily as Harry had been, all those years ago, and now he was no less a grandchild than Hugo or Victoire. It was one of the reasons Harry knew he could take the residency on Ginger Island; he wasn’t leaving Teddy alone with just Andromeda to watch after him. There was a legion of Weasley’s on hand, too, right down to the Deputy Head Mistress. The poor kid didn’t dare step out of line, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He emanated joyfulness, and Harry wanted to wrap it around himself like a blanket. 

“You look good, Ted,” he said. His grin was bright.

“Thanks, Harry. You, too.” He went up on his toes and pretended to study Harry’s hair. “Getting a bit of snow on the roof, I see. Oh, wait, that actually _is_ snow.”

“Good save,” Harry said with a direct look, reaching out and wrapping his arm Teddy’s scrawny neck. “I was about to push you down and rub your face in the snow.”

“I think you could take him, Lupin,” Malfoy piped up. “When was the last time you saw this kid on a broom, Potter? The only other person who was as freakishly talented at he is at his age, much as it pains me to admit it, was you.”

Harry turned to give him a startled look. “That’s the second compliment you’ve paid me today, Malfoy. Are you coming down with something?”

Malfoy blushed again, and Harry thought he might like to spend the rest of his life making that pink stain fill those cheeks. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he was certain he’d lost his .

“I just told a fourteen-year-old he could kick your arse,” Malfoy said defensively. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

Harry gave him a wry look and Malfoy sneered back, but it had none of the heat of Malfoy’s old sneer. 

“So, did you figure out what’s up with the animals, Harry?” Ted asked as they began to follow Hagrid to his hut. Malfoy had picked up the equipment Harry used to feed the baby Thestral, and Harry nodded his appreciation.

“He just got here, Lupin. Give the man a chance to breathe, will you?”

Harry saw some of the joy leach from Ted’s expression, and he roughed up the bright blue hair.

“Not yet, although I appreciate your faith in my abilities.”

Teddy gave him a look that said he thought he could do anything, and Harry wished he was equal to that confidence.   
“You’ll figure it out, Harry. So, are you going to be around for dinner tonight?”

“I plan to be,” Harry said. “I’ll be staying until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Can you sit at the Gryffindor table with me and some of the blokes?” His face turned pink. “They want to ask you some questions about, well, you know. The dragon and – stuff.”

“Which dragon?” Malfoy asked wryly. “The one in the Tri-wizard tournament, or the one he rode out of Gringotts?”

Harry held up his hand. “Allow me to point out that I rode the poor, half dead thing out of Gringotts, sitting behind Hermione.” He looked back to Teddy. “And yes, I will happily join you and the blokes at dinner. They can ask me anything they want.”

Malfoy gave him a cautionary look. “Careful, Potter. The little bastard’s can be quite inquisitive. They might ask you questions you don’t want to answer.”

Teddy laughed. “I’ll keep them in line, Harry. I promise.” He pulled away, backing toward the school. “I’ve got to go; fourth hour double potions coming up. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Teddy whooped. “Excellent! 

He turned and ran up the hill toward Hogwarts, and Malfoy shook his head.

“You’re insane.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” 

Malfoy gave him a look that said, ‘we’ll see’, but didn’t belabor the point. 

“So, can I ask you a couple of questions?” He asked almost hesitantly.

“Of course,” Harry said, then wondered if he’d truly lost his fucking mind. He was still feeling Ted’s contact euphoria; it was the only excuse for telling Malfoy he could ask him questions. From the expression on Malfoy’s face, he was as startled as Harry was.

“Uhm, all right.” Malfoy straightened and cleared his throat, reaching up to push his hair back with long, black gloved fingers. “You said you planned do some research in the school library. What are you looking for?”

Harry considered the question seriously as they walked through the snow, the new layer creating a silencing buffer between their feet and the crunchy snow from the previous fall beneath. “Well, I’ve only examined the baby so far, and to me it felt like she was starving. The muscles in her throat simply weren’t working; she couldn’t swallow. I honestly don’t know of anything organic which would create that phenomena.”

“Conclusion?” Malfoy asked, a crease between his brows.

“Magical interference.”

Malfoy nodded. “So, a curse, then?”

“I don’t want it to be that. I can’t think what someone would hope to accomplish by doing it, but I’m afraid – “ There was nothing to add to it. Malfoy knew what Harry was saying.

“Has it occurred to you,” Malfoy said slowly, “that someone might be doing this as a ploy to call you back to England?”

Harry stared at him, startled. “Well, it hadn’t until now.” He looked at Hagrid, who was far ahead of them, cleaning his old meat grinder outside of his hut. The giant new Fang lay nearby, no more ferocious than the old one. 

“There’s something else,” Malfoy went on. “Immediately after the war, the Board of Governors, in their infinite wisdom, had all books referring to any dark magic expunged from the library.”

Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the bare hand curling around the comical little hedgehog soft against his palm. “That’s a problem. The main magical library at the ministry would almost certainly have the information, but going there – “ Harry shook his head. 

They could hear kids shouting, laughing in the distance. It was a surreal backdrop to a conversation Harry had never imagined having. 

“I’m assuming you asked what I planned to research for a reason,” he said, dropping his voice so the sound didn’t carry to where Hagrid was washing his massive hands. No point in alarming him until he actually had a theory. 

“Yes, there was a purpose.” Malfoy linked his hands at his lower back, something Harry noticed he tended to do when he was uncomfortable. “I know of a library that contains the books you’ll need,” he said simply. He didn’t say anything else, just stared at Harry, waiting.

“I thought – “ Harry stopped, not wanting to say something stupid, or offensive. The corner of Malfoy’s full lips curled upwards. 

“That anything with even a mention of dark magic had been expunged from the house?”

“Well, that was part of the terms of his release.”

“House arrest,” Malfoy said wryly. “Release is a bit of a stretch.”

“I heard he passed away last year,” Harry said softly. “I’m – “

Malfoy shook his head. “No need. I’m not sorry, either. Any resemblance that man had to my father was purely on the surface.” He looked so sad for a moment that Harry wanted to reach out and comfort him but had no idea what to say. Malfoy straightened with what looked like effort. “At any rate, there is an expansive library at the Manor, should you want to use it.” He hesitated. “And should the memories from the war not make it too uncomfortable. In comparison to finding yourself the center of attention in the Ministry Library.”

Harry looked at him, startled by a realization. “There is no comparison,” he said firmly. “I have no desire to encourage more stares. The Manor it is.”

“Let me tell Hagrid we’re going, if… that’s the plan?” 

Harry felt suddenly off center, off balance. He was staring into gray eyes that were the same colour as the clouds above, dropping snow around them. Sealing them into a world of silence that seemed to be pushing them toward one another. Harry didn’t think he’d ever felt anything like it before, and the idea that it was Malfoy initiating it was a bit frightening, if he was honest. This man had tried to kill him once, and Harry nearly had killed him. He’d despised Malfoy for years. So, what the hell was _this_ then?

“Uhm, I’ll tell Hagrid and then – what? We walk to the gates?”

“And Apparate onto the grounds, yes.”

“You don’t have wards?” Harry asked in surprise.

Malfoy gave him a sardonic grin. “None that seal me out. I’m the heir. Are you opposed to side-along?”

Harry had no idea how, but Malfoy made the question sound dirty. “Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

He told Hagrid he needed to be off to do research, then he and Malfoy walked in silence down to the gates, side by side but maintaining a careful distance. Once through the gates, Malfoy stopped, then offered his hand.

Harry stared at it, then took a deep breath and offered the hand _not_ encased in a hedgehog glove. Moments later, the sensation of being sucked through a hose made him feel disgusting. He’d always hated it. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until he felt his feet firmly beneath him. 

Once he felt stable, he opened his eyes and caught his breath. Gleaming in the afternoon sun was a spectacular house, framed by the limbs of fir trees laden with heavy snow. The walls were honey-gold, and there was a turret behind the main entry doors. Heavy garlands wrapped around the tall doors and all of the windows, and beautiful.

“Wow,” he murmured. He looked over at Malfoy and found him studying the house, quiet pride on his handsome face. 

“You know,” he said softly, “I remind myself often that my father was just one Malfoy. My family may have been pureblood back generations…”

“And a bit prejudiced,” Harry added, not unkindly. Malfoy snorted. 

“Yes, and that. But it’s who I am, and this house has been in my family, has been my family, for four hundred years. There were some true idiots in the family line,” he rolled his eyes and Harry felt the need to laugh. He grinned instead, “but there were some very good, very progressive wizards in the mix, too. I may not be proud of my father, but I am proud of that.”

Harry studied him, thinking of his own parents, how proud he was of them in spite of the way his dad had treated Snape. “And you should be,” Harry said. 

“So,” Malfoy exhaled softly, condensation lifting from his lips in a soft white cloud. He gestured toward the house. “Shall we?”

Harry nodded, and they made their way toward the house through the deep snow. 

“Oh, by the way,” Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. It was adorable and Harry was charmed. So charmed he nearly missed the next sentence. 

“My mother is home.”

When he realized what Malfoy had said, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

TBC


	11. One Surprise After Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:

_Once he felt stable, he opened his eyes and caught his breath. Gleaming in the afternoon sun was a spectacular house, framed by the limbs of fir trees laden with heavy snow. The walls were honey-gold, and there was a turret behind the main entry doors, rising into the clear blue sky. Heavy garlands wrapped around the tall doors and all the windows and were beautiful._

_“Wow,” he murmured. He looked over at Malfoy and found him studying the house, quiet pride on his handsome face._

_“You know,” he said softly, “I remind myself often that my father was just one Malfoy. My family may have been pureblood back generations…”_

_“And a bit prejudiced,” Harry added, not unkindly. Malfoy snorted._

_“Yes, and that. But it’s who I am, and this house has been in my family, has been my family, for four hundred years. There were some true idiots in the family line,” he rolled his eyes and Harry felt the need to laugh. He grinned instead, “but there were some very good, very progressive wizards in the mix, too. I may not be proud of my father, but I am proud of that.”_

_Harry studied him, thinking of his own parents, how proud he was of them in spite of the way his dad had treated Snape. “And you should be,” Harry said._

_“So,” Malfoy exhaled softly, condensation lifting from his lips in a soft white cloud. He gestured toward the house. “Shall we?”_

_Harry nodded, and they made their way toward the house through the deep snow._

_“Oh, by the way,” Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. It was adorable and Harry was charmed. So charmed he nearly missed the next sentence._

_“My mother is home.”_

_When he realized what Malfoy had said, he felt his heart drop into his stomach._

Malfoy was several feet ahead of Harry by the time he moved through the thick snow to catch up. 

“Nice of you to let me know,” he called at Malfoy’s straight, retreating back. “You know, before we got here.”

Malfoy didn’t even slow. “Now, where is the fun in that?”

“Fun? Seriously?” 

Malfoy pushed through the last trees before the black wrought iron gates of the Manor rose to their impressive, fifteen-foot height. Snow fell from the pine needles, then on recoil the wet branch whipped back and hit Harry in the face. 

“Hey. You berk.”

He heard Malfoy laugh. It was a different laugh than when they’d been boys, devoid of the biting, ‘need to impress’ sarcasm of their youth. It sounded – like a laugh. Amused, and free of subtext. 

“Please tell me it hit you in the face,” Malfoy said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were sparkling. Harry wiped the wet snow from his face, giving him a glare that his heart wasn’t in. The moment Malfoy turned back to the gates, drawing his wand, Harry knelt and formed a quick, hard snow ball and threw it into the back of Malfoy’s head. It landed in his hair with a wet splat.

Malfoy went stiff, then turned slowly, his face alight with both outrage and challenge. “You did not,” he said slowly. Harry bent and formed another snowball with clear intention. When he threw it, Malfoy lifted his wand and deflected it, sending it back into Harry’s face. Unprepared, Harry could only duck, but this snowball had been hexed to follow. It landed on the back of his neck and snow slid down beneath Harry’s collars. He shrieked, and Malfoy laughed in delight. 

“You scream like a girl,” he baited Harry, grinning.

“Well, I happen to know you do, too,” Harry shot back, yanking his wand from his sleeve. He hadn’t used the spell for a while, but he knew for a fact you never forgot your first spell for magical snowball fights. 

For the next ten minutes they chases each other down the Manor fence line, pelting one another with hard packed (one of the benefits of magic) snowballs. By the time Harry raised a hand, sensing Malfoy wouldn’t surrender, ever, and called a halt, they were pink cheeked and out of breath and soaked to the skin. 

“Gods,” Malfoy complained, shivering as he went back to the gate, “why did I start that?”

“I started it.” 

“I hit you in the face with a branch covered in snow.” Malfoy waved his wand in a complicated series of motions. 

“And I hit you in the face with a snowball,” Harry said triumphantly. “Hence, I started it.”

“Hence?” Malfoy repeated, face alight with humor. He lowered his wand and the gates creaked open. “Harry Potter just said ‘hence’.”

“It’s a perfectly serviceable word,” Harry said primly. Malfoy laughed, once again that delightful, delighted sound. “What?”

Malfoy shook his head and turned back to walk through the gates. “It just sounds – weird. ‘Hence’,” he repeated again, chuckling. He paused to glance back. “Are you coming?”

Harry looked at the gates and was suddenly flooded with memories of the last time he’d gone through them, the back of his jacket held in hard hands as he was shoved along. Ron and Hermione were being led behind him, and he could hear her quick, terrified breathing. Memories of that afternoon held so much horror it had taken his Mind Healer months to unpack it from his psyche. 

His expression must have held some of what was going through his mind because Malfoy stopped and turned back, approaching him carefully.

“Are you all right?” he asked, which was so weird on the face of it that Harry stared, startled, into his eyes. 

“I’m – yeah,” he said finally. “It’s just…” He didn’t know what to say after that, so he stopped.

“I know,” Malfoy said gently. “It took a year before I could even walk through the doors, and then I was only able to do it if Mother went with me.” He rolled his eyes. “Sounds ridiculous; I know.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry said. “Do you know how many times I’ve wished my Mum was there to go with me somewhere?”

Malfoy grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think – “

“I didn’t say it to make you feel bad,” Harry assured him quietly. “Just to let you know that I knew how you felt.”

Malfoy nodded. “I think you’ll find the place much changed,” he said tentatively. “The moment I could, I had an architect in. We gutted much of the first and second floors. I had the dungeons filled in.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “It was cathartic, actually.”

“I imagine it was,” Harry said, much of his dread fading. If the Manor looked different, perhaps it would feel different, too. At least, he could hope. 

Malfoy opened a door that looked more like a – well, a _door_ than the entrance to a cathedral. The entry hall, which had once been cavernous, cold, marble on marble on marble, now seemed more wood and plaster. There was a chandelier, but it was brass and wrought iron, not a snake in sight. A thick carpet buffered the gleaming hardwood floors and hanging above a table festooned with greens and glass ornaments was a lovely portrait of Santa Claus wearing his velvet and fur lined suit. He was seen only from his bearded chin down, carefully place presents a Christmas tree. 

Harry stopped in his tracks, staring at the painting. He couldn’t imagine anything more incongruent than a painting of _Santa_ , hanging in the entryway of Malfoy Manor. On the whole, the new first floor of the Manor, at least this part of it, looked more like a remodeled country house than a gothic castle. 

“Imagine my surprise,” a smooth, refined voice that was the female version of Draco’s said, “when I looked out of my study window and saw two supposedly grown men pelting one another with snowballs. Now I find the same two grown men, dripping water onto my Aubusson.”

Harry swallowed. What was it about this woman that just hearing her voice made him feel eleven years old, a gawky, awkward child wearing his cousins too-big clothes?

He expected Draco to apologize. He didn’t expect what he said. 

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Draco muttered. And when exactly, had he become ‘Draco’? The thought was there and gone as Draco crossed to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. “Stop terrorizing the poor man. I’ve just barely got him in the door.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the changes in Narcissa. She wasn’t wearing robes, first of all. She had on a cool blue pant suit, wool slacks with a turtle-necked sweater and a long vest. Her hair was up in a neat corona of braids and all the strain and tension Harry had last seen on her face was gone. No wonder Draco was so beautiful; he looked like his mother. 

“Do you approve of Draco’s ‘improvements’ to the Manor, Mr Potter?”  
She lifted one arched brow, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“I do,” Harry said. “Very much so.”

Her staid expression finally broke, and she smiled. The transformation was startlingly glamourous. 

“So do I,” she said, mischief entering her eyes. “And imagining Lucius’ reaction to a portrait of St Nicholas hanging in his entryway gives me unimagined joy.”

Draco snorted, glancing over at Harry. “We had to move his portrait into the attic,” he said wryly. “Needless to say, he didn’t approve of the remodel.”

“The man was better at being a kill joy than anyone I’ve ever known. I suppose it’s a good thing he’s dead then, isn’t it?” Narcissa said lightly, and you could have blown Harry over with a feather. She took in his gobsmacked expression with amusement. “I suppose the two of you are here to use the library?”

“Excellent assumption,” Draco said, removing his long over coat, laying it over his arm.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Draco,” she scolded. She drew her wand and elegantly waved it toward the two of them. It was a surprisingly personal experience to feel his clothes dry, from the pea coat and slacks in to his pants. He startled, and Narcissa laughed. 

“Mother, for Gods sakes,” Draco complained, clearly as unprepared as Harry. “You could warn a man.”

She shrugged, not upset in the least, waving her wand at the rug. Harry watched their damp footsteps disappear. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Harry looked at Draco, his brows arched. “There should be a joke here about apples and trees, or something.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself trying to come up with one. Mother, we’re going to the library. I don’t know how long will be here, but it could be a while.”

“The books with the dark magic are under a new ward,” she said easily, crossing to the front windows. She waved and fluffy greenery garlands, a close match to the ones on the outside of the house, floated into a matching position on the inside. “But they should open for you. Just remember to use the safety spells. Some of the books bite.”

“Yes, Mother, I remember.”

“Shall I have coffee sent up?”

“That would be lovely.” She lifted her head, and Draco pressed a soft kiss onto her cheek. Harry watched the exchange with a slight smile. There was a bittersweet ache in the middle of his chest for what he’d never had, but he couldn’t begrudge Malfoy – no, Draco; it was time to be a grown up. He couldn’t begrudge _Draco_ a mother who loved him.

“Potter, shall we?” Draco gestured down a wide hallway. 

“Mr Potter,” Narcissa said as he turned to follow him. Harry looked back at her.

“Yes, Mrs Malfoy?”

“I just wanted to say,” she turned a bit pink across her high cheekbones, and Harry was fascinated. Would wonders never cease; Narcissa Malfoy could blush. “The tan suits you. You look remarkably – healthy.”

Draco cleared his throat. “I’m sure Potter is gratified, Mother, but we have work.”

“Of course,” She gave Harry a stiff smile, her demeanor returning once again to the ‘Lady of the Manor’. “I’ll send up your coffee.”

“Thank you.” 

Draco gave her a look Harry couldn’t begin to interpret, brows lowered and eyes sending a private message. As Harry followed Draco into the long, wide hallway, he glanced back. 

Narcissa Malfoy was watching, and she gave him a slow smile. 

Why that was alarming, Harry couldn’t begin to say. 

TBC


	12. Chocolate Handstands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part: 

_“The books with the dark magic are under a new ward,” she said easily, crossing to the front windows. She waved and fluffy greenery garlands, a close match to the ones on the outside of the house, floated into a matching position on the inside. “But they should open for you. Just remember to use the safety spells. Some of the books bite.”_

_“Yes, Mother, I remember.”_

_“Shall I have coffee sent up?”_

_“That would be lovely.” She lifted her head, and Draco pressed a soft kiss onto her cheek. Harry watched the exchange with a slight smile. There was a bittersweet ache in the middle of his chest for what he’d never had, but he couldn’t begrudge Malfoy – no, Draco; it was time to be a grown up. He couldn’t begrudge _Draco_ a mother who loved him._

_“Potter, shall we?” Draco gestured down a wide hallway._

_“Mr Potter,” Narcissa said as he turned to follow him. Harry looked back at her._

_“Yes, Mrs Malfoy?”_

_“I just wanted to say,” she turned a bit pink across her high cheekbones, and Harry was fascinated. Would wonders never cease; Narcissa Malfoy could blush. “The tan suits you. You look remarkably – healthy.”_

_Draco cleared his throat. “I’m sure Potter is gratified, Mother, but we have work.”_

_“Of course,” She gave Harry a stiff smile, her demeanor returning once again to the ‘Lady of the Manor’. “I’ll send up your coffee.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_Draco gave her a look Harry couldn’t begin to interpret, brows lowered and eyes sending a private message. As Harry followed Draco into the long, wide hallway, he glanced back._

_Narcissa Malfoy was watching, and she gave him a slow smile._

_Why that was alarming, Harry couldn’t begin to say._

Harry should have expected the Manor library to be something straight out of Downton Abbey, and he wasn’t disappointed. Wall after wall of meticulously dusted books reached two stories up, floor to ceiling windows with blue velvet curtains pulled back to let in the winter light. He thought Hermione might have a paroxysm of pure joy at the sight of it.

Malfoy led him to a door between two bookcases, nearly hidden in shadows. He lay his pale, long fingered hand on the door and waited several seconds. Eventually it was outlined by light, emanating from underneath his palm. 

“All who enter here, beware,” a deep voice said from seemingly the air around them, and Harry jumped, startled. 

“Jesus,” he gasped. “Was that your father?”

Draco pursed his lips. “An excess of ego, I assure you. I’ll deal with that before we leave today.”

“You didn’t know about it?”

“I rarely have reason to access the books on dark magic while teaching transfiguration at Hogwarts, Potter.”

It was jarring, how surprised he was to hear Draco call him by his surname. He shouldn’t be; he’d never called him anything else. It was just – he no longer thought of him as Malfoy. Which was clearly going to be weird.

Draco opened the door and waved his hand at the dark room beyond. Several lamps illuminated, showing more book cases, lined with books. There were brass bars in front of them, locked to even heavier bars imbedded ceiling and floor, heavy locks securing the in place. Harry noticed a couple of the old volumes vibrating in place, and felt a chill running down his spine. What these books contained had been outlawed after the death of Voldemort, and Harry turned to Draco.

“How do you still have these? Aren’t they outlawed?”

Draco gave him a direct look. “That would be your fault, actually.”

Harry blinked. “My fault?”

“You testified for Mother and I. Even Father, as shocking as that was. Why did you, actually?”

Harry pulled off his coat, mostly to kill time while he tried to decide what to say.

“There were enough families that had been wiped out by the war. During the time, after – well, after, I saw you all huddled in the corner. I didn’t want to watch; I didn’t want to care. But your mother had taken care of that forever. Through her willingness to sacrifice for you, I could see you as a family. I lost mine to Voldemort, but once the trials started I could see a way to save yours. And as much as I…disliked the man, he was your father.” Harry looked away from Draco’s wide eyes. “The compromise of home arrest seemed …”

“Woefully inadequate to almost the entire wizarding world.”

Harry shrugged. He’d had several uncomfortable conversations about his part in the senior Malfoy’s sentence of house arrest, particularly with the Weasley’s. It had been awkward for everyone, because they all knew how he felt about Lucius Malfoy. The only one who seemed to understand was Hermione. She’d merely given him a long look, then a hug, and pulled Ron out of an argument that might have damaged their friendship, they were both so angry. It was in no small part why he took a flat in London rather than stay with the Weasley’s for school. They offered, but something had changed. Losing Fred left a hole in the family that was impossible to fill, and he understood why they didn’t get it. He wasn’t sure he did, himself. It was an impulse, like flying back to pull Draco off that teetering tower of books.

“It sounds like it wasn’t one of my best ideas, if your attitude about your father is anything to go by.”

Draco looked away. “Maybe not for me, but it was good for my mother.” He grimaced. “Even if he did wander around feeling sorry for himself the whole time. Or maybe because of it.” He ran his hand along the bar locking books in on one of the shelves; after a moment, the lock sprang open and the bar slowly disappeared. “She was finally able to see what a completely narcissistic arsehole he was. And the damage he’d done to me by bringing those insane people into our home.”

“I can’t imagine,” Harry said softly. “How did you sleep?”

Draco smirked, studying the titles on several books, perhaps more carefully than he needed to. 

“I didn’t; not much. I spent most of my time at Hogwarts, in Severus’ quarters.” Sadness settled over his face. “He protected me.”

“Me, too,” Harry admitted. “Though I didn’t know it.”

“I think,” Draco pulled a book from the shelf, handing it to Harry, “that there are conversations we need to have, Potter, if you’re amenable.”

“I am,” Harry agreed. “So what’s in here you think might help us.” He looked at the title; it was “Curses and Their Long-Term Effects.”

“Perhaps nothing. But there’s no harm in looking.” Draco blushed again, pulling another book. Harry opened the one he’d been handed and Draco had just said, “oh, Potter, watch out for that one,” when the fucking thing bit him. 

He dropped the book on a pained sound, looking down at a row of angry looking puncture wounds on the top and palm of hand. 

“Fucking hell,” he gasped.

“Potter, I told you,” Malfoy said, brow creased. “You work with animals that bite every day.”

“Yeah, but I expect the animals to bite. Not a damned book.”

“True. Here, let me see.” 

Draco took Harry’s hand, studying the wounds. They were throbbing, and Harry grimaced. 

“On a scale of one to ten,” Draco said, “how much do they hurt?”

“Maybe eight, nine. Why?”

“It tells me what kind of venom was used.” 

Draco drew his wand, whispering in Latin. _“Sanare hoc malum, auferre hoc dolore.”_

Harry recognized the spell he used instantly. It was one he used himself, on injured animals. But then Draco went on.

_”Accipere tenebras, lux ferre .” ___

__Harry watched as the pain faded and the bleeding wounds closed over, not even leaving a scar._ _

__“You’ll have to teach me that one,” he said, turning his hand to look at the unmarked skin._ _

__“I doubt you’ll have future need for a cure for a dark bite.” Draco stepped back, turning to search the shelves. Harry had an uncomfortable reminder of why they were there._ _

__“You never know,” he murmured._ _

____

hpdmhpdmhpdm

They’d been in the small room with the locked books for about an hour when glitter seemed to float from the ceiling, and a tray sporting two mugs appeared on the desk space in front of them. Harry looked over and couldn’t help it; he laughed.

There were two mugs on the white ceramic tray; one depicting Santa and the other a very happy snowman, both of them performing handstands. The Santa mug held black coffee, the scent of which was heavenly. The snowman obviously contained hot chocolate, piled hight with tiny marshmallows. Harry picked up the snowman and handed it to Draco, who was blushing once again.

“I think this is for you,” Harry said. Draco scowled, but his pink cheeks gave him away. 

“She thinks she’s hilarious,” he complained. 

“Would you rather have the coffee?” Harry offered him the Santa mug. 

Draco curled his hands around the snowman mug. “No, thank you. I cannot abide coffee.” 

“You’re mad.” Harry inhaled the steam from what was obviously an expensive blend. 

“No,” Draco said. He wouldn’t look at Harry, which he found amusing. “I just – have an avaricious sweet tooth, of which my mother is very aware. She loves to poke me about it.”

Harry grinned. “If looks are any indication, that should make your sweet tooth very happy.” 

“Oh, it does.” Draco smiled as he inhaled deeply. “There’s nothing on earth like the Manor elves hot chocolate.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Harry took a sip of his coffee and sighed; it was delicious. 

He had pulled out a chair long before and was pouring over the book that had bit him. Every once in a while, an insult would turn up along the border, and Harry could feel the manuscripts shuddering irritation and its inability to lash out with the teeth that had disappeared after Draco’s spell.

‘Inarticulate son of a Muggle aberration’, appeared along the side of the page. 

Harry drew his wand, pointing it at the page. “Shut it, you,” he said, and the words disappeared with a pop. 

“Is it being rude?” Draco asked, setting the chocolate clear of the book in front of him.

“Extremely,” Harry admitted. “But I can handle it.”

“No doubt,” Draco murmured. Silence settled between them. Silence that was surprisingly comfortable. Finally, Harry broke it.

“I have a question.”

“I imagine I have an answer,” Draco retorted. “Depending on what it is, of course.”

“It’s about the Room of Requirement.”

He knew he didn’t imagine the stiffening of Draco’s shoulders.

“What about it?” he said after the first awkward silence of the afternoon. 

“Hermione told me it’s disappeared, that no one can find it. I find that really odd,” he said, watching Draco’s reaction. “We had it open before I left. The magic in the walls had been damaged, but it didn’t seem that unstable…”

Draco held up his hand, stopping Harry’s words. “Potter,” he said slowly. “No offense, truly. I find I rather prefer us not going after one another at every turn. It’s much more peaceful, but – I told Minerva when I took the job teaching Transfiguration that my only requirement was that I not be involved in anything regarding the Room of Requirement.”

Harry stared at him in surprise. It suddenly dawned on him that a friend of his died in that room, and he felt like a right tit. 

“I – I am sorry, Dr…Malfoy.” He caught himself just in time. “I didn’t think.”

A tiny spark of amusement entered his eyes. “Potter, you truly mustn’t give me openings like that. It’s almost irresistible.” 

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked. “That was foolish of me.”

“Thank you for acknowledging it.”

“Any time.” Harry went back to his book, but he knew he wasn’t going to find anything useful in it. There had been one small mention of an ancient curse that could be used on magical creatures, but it caused instantaneous death, not wasting. Speaking of – he glanced down at his watch and saw that it was just after one p.m. He wanted to be back in time to feed the baby before having dinner with Ted and his mates. 

“Do you think it’s connected?” Draco asked suddenly, and Harry stared up at him. 

“Pardon?”

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. “What’s affecting the animals and the Room of Requirement. Do you think it’s connected?”

Harry didn’t say anything for long moments. “I – haven’t the foggiest.” He ran one hand along his rough jaw. He’d shaved that morning, but the stubble was already back. “I don’t see how it could be.”

“Hmm. Well, good.” 

Draco went back to his book, and Harry went back to the book in front of him, but he wasn’t seeing the words. He was unsettled by Draco’s suggestion. 

Having the animals, and the castle involved would be a whole new level of bad.

TBC


	13. The Room of Requirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter: 

_“I – I am sorry, Dr…Malfoy.” He caught himself just in time. “I didn’t think.”_

_A tiny spark of amusement entered his eyes. “Potter, you truly mustn’t give me openings like that. It’s almost irresistible.”_

_The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked. “That was foolish of me.”_

_“Thank you for acknowledging it.”_

_“Any time.” Harry went back to his book, but he knew he wasn’t going to find anything useful in it. There had been one small mention of an ancient curse that could be used on magical creatures, but it caused instantaneous death, not wasting. Speaking of – he glanced down at his watch and saw that it was just after one p.m. He wanted to be back in time to feed the baby before having dinner with Ted and his mates._

_“Do you think it’s connected?” Draco asked suddenly, and Harry stared up at him._

_“Pardon?”_

_Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. “What’s affecting the animals and the Room of Requirement. Do you think it’s connected?”_

_Harry didn’t say anything for long moments. “I – haven’t the foggiest.” He ran one hand along his rough jaw. He’d shaved that morning, but the stubble was already back. “I don’t see how it could be.”_

_“Hmm. Well, good.”_

_Draco went back to his book, and Harry went back to the book in front of him, but he wasn’t seeing the words. He was unsettled by Draco’s suggestion._

_Having the animals, and the castle involved would be a whole new level of bad._

Harry sat on Hermione’s couch, watching her thumb through the stack of books he’d brought back with him from the Manor. He’d already been down to the clearing in the forest to feed the baby Thestral, and her deterioration concerned him. Her breathing had been more labored than the day before, her eyes a little wild. He’d gone to Padma Patil, who had replaced Madam Pomfrey when she retired a couple of years before and asked her for a mild sedative so the small creature could eat. Once her belly was full she seemed better, but her mother was anxious and Harry couldn’t blame her. Hagrid questioned him worriedly and looked over the books he and Draco both carried. Harry wished so much he had reassurances for Hagrid, but he didn’t. He’d climbed the hill up to the school, his steps leaden, still stymied by what might be wrong. He’d begun to fear his friends had made a mistake sending for him; what if he couldn’t figure it out? 

Apparently, he was as transparent as glass.

“Stop it,” Draco said as he hurried to catch up to him.

Harry frowned at him. “Stop what?”

“Stop beating yourself up because you aren’t omnipotent.”

“I’m not – “

“Aren’t you?” Draco countered. “You aren’t telling yourself that you should know what’s wrong, just because they put faith in you? That you’re afraid you’ll let them down?”

Harry looked away from his probing eyes.

“See, you are. And you need to stop. You’re a Dr, Potter. I’d wager a good one. You aren’t omnipotent.”

It hadn’t made Harry feel any better. 

“So, what is the Manor library like?” Hermione asked, flipping through the pages, grimacing at one particularly grotesque illustration. 

“You’d love it. And I wager if you asked, he’d take you.”

Hermione gave him a faintly horrified look.

“No, I know,” Harry said to her unspoken argument. “I expected to feel the same, but Malfoy has had the house remodeled. Less medieval fortress, more country manor house.”

“I can’t even imagine a change like that.”

“I couldn’t either, but he’s managed.”

“Did you see his mother?”

She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

He grimaced. “Oh, yes.”

“What is that face about?”

“This one?” He pointed at his face. “Just mine. Same old face.”

She gave him narrow-eyed look.

“Fine,” he said, stacking his hands behind his head and leaning back on the comfortable couch. “Yes, she was there. Yes, I saw her. Yes, it was weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Just – weird. I expected a bun so tight it was like a face lift and formal robes, if I expected anything.”

“And that isn’t what you saw?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She looked – well, lovely really. Ice blue pantsuit, soft braids curled round her head. She looks years, maybe a decade, younger than the last time I saw her.”

“Well, the last time you saw her she was held in Ministry custody, being tried for treason.”

“True.” Harry chewed on his lower lip. “She was just different than I expected.”

“Isn’t Draco different than you expected?”

Harry frowned. “Yes. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Oh?” She gave him a look that was so full of amusement, and not-so-secretly delighted, that he reached out with his foot and kicked her shin.

“Ouch,” she said mildly.

“That was convincing,” he teased. He looked at his watch. “I need to head down to the Great Hall. I promised Ted I’d have dinner with him.”

“Oh, good.” Her delight at his announcement was transparent. “He’s missed you.”

“I’ve missed him, too.” He stood, stretching his back. It cracked audibly and she grimaced. 

“Lovely.”

“You coming with?”

She shook her head. “Ron went to pick up Rose and Hugo from his Mum’s, then we’re going to have dinner here. I love that Molly and Arthur are so willing to keep them during the day, I just wish we could find someone who could do it here. I’d love to be able to pop in and see them at lunch.” 

“I understand that,” Harry said, and he did. He wanted to be a father, very much, but had never been able to figure out how to work his professional life around the idea of fatherhood. Plus, he didn’t want to parent alone.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

She’d found a page that clearly fascinated her, because she didn’t even look up. “Okay, later.”

He grinned, turning to the door. Hermione fascinated by a book never changed. 

The Hall was already crowded when Harry walked in, but Teddy immediately noticed him, jumping up from his seat and waving wildly. Harry grinned, walking to a spot near the front of the room at the Gryffindor table, looking at the four boys who sat there. 

“Harry!” Teddy hugged him without embarrassment, and Harry was glad that hadn’t changed. Ted turned to his friends, who were all watching him with different degrees of fascination and nervousness. 

“Harry, this is Michael Sparks, Brian Howard and Artie Percival. Mates, this is Harry.”

There were murmurs, and they still watched him a bit warily.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight, gents?” he asked, swinging his foot over the long bench and settling in next to Teddy. Other Gryffindor’s along the long table were watching them, and Harry wondered if he’d ever get used to being stared at. He doubted it.

Ted rubbed his hands together. “Roast chicken and jacket potatoes.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. It had been a long time since breakfast, and he was starving. 

The boys were all very intelligent. They asked questions about his practice, and how much schooling he’d needed. At sixteen they were one year away from making some decisions about their futures, and while he’d never tell Ron, he sort of hoped Teddy might want to do something, anything other than be an Auror. 

About half-way through dinner Harry felt eyes on him again, and he glanced around. When he scanned the staff table he found Draco watching him, and he nodded. Draco looked startled, his cheeks turning pink, and Harry grinned as he took a bite of potatoes.

When dinner was over and the boys had gone off to study, Harry strolled up to the staff table, catching Draco’s eye as he drank a cup of coffee.

“Potter,” he said smoothly. Harry had to admire his recovery time. He no longer looked even remotely embarrassed. 

“Malfoy.” He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I know you told me this afternoon that you didn’t want to be involved with the Room of Requirement, and I respect that. But I’m going up there, and I was wondering if you might like to go along.”

Draco looked exasperated. “Did you think I’d changed my mind in the last, what? Two hours?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess I hoped your curiosity might be stronger than your aversion to the room.”

Draco shook his head. “Truly, Potter, you have to stop using words like aversion in casual conversation. When you sound literate, I have no idea who you are.”

“I suppose that deflection was a skillful way of telling me you’d rather not go with me.”

One of Draco’s neat, dark brows, darker than his hair by several shades, quirked. When they’d all been in school, Harry had been of the opinion he’d dyed them, until Hermione had given him the _look_ that meant he was obsessing again.

“Okay, fine. If I don’t turn up before breakfast, will you tell Hermione the room ate me?”

Draco’s brow creased, and he opened his mouth, but finally he closed it again and nodded slowly. 

“Okay, then.” Harry felt awkward. Even more awkward when Draco just continued to stare. He gave a discomfited little salute that no doubt looked as stupid as it felt and turned to walk away.

He was halfway to the main doors when he heard “Potter!” shouted out behind him, and the relief made him weak in the knees. It was an acknowledgment of the level of dread he carried about trying to get into the room. 

He hadn’t admitted it to a living soul, but when they’d accessed the room during repairs, standing in it made the flesh between his shoulder blades crawl. There had just been – something wrong with it, like it was still injured, a wound in the soul of Hogwarts. The blackened walls disappeared into darkness far about their heads, the back wall so far away it was difficult to see. Harry had never been in the room when it was so massive; it had always arranged itself to the size he needed. Now, it was just a black hole. He hadn’t been able to get out fast enough.

He turned to find Draco closing the distance between them at a brisk walk. “Change your mind?”

Draco took a bite of the dinner roll he still held in his hand, chewing thoughtfully. “Honestly? I’d rather be lost with you than have to explain to Hermione why I let you go alone.”

Harry grinned slightly. “You call her Hermione.”

Draco gave him a sour look. “Of course, I call her Hermione. She’s my colleague. On some days, I’ll even acknowledge she’s my superior. But to call her ‘Granger-Weasley’ every time I talk to or about her is simply too much trouble.”

Harry snorted. “Of course, it is. It couldn’t simply be that you like her.”

Draco looked scandalized. “Of course not.” He said the words firmly, but that revealing blush spread over his cheeks. Harry wondered if Draco hadn’t blushed when they’d been younger, or if he’d simply been too clueless to notice. 

Draco gestured with his arm. “After you.” Harry nodded in acceptance and led the way.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

The seventh-floor corridor was even more vacant than it had been when they’d been in school. The suits of armor were gone, their plinths standing vacant. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching the trolls ballet still hung there, and Harry stared at it, really looking at it for the first time. He knew he was stalling; he didn’t care.

“You know,” he said mildly, “that really is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Well done, Potter. You’ve conceded aloud what wizards have known for generations. Now, please try to open the damned thing, if you would. I’d like to be out of here before dawn.” He crossed his arms over his chest, bringing his teaching robes closed. “Besides, it doesn’t feel like the heat is working on this floor.”

Harry nodded, rubbing his hands together. It was cold, uncomfortably so. A shadow of the unpleasant crawly sensation between his shoulder blades made his dread grow. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, then closed his eyes.

What did he need, he thought? 

It took him a couple of minutes, but he finally settled on “I need to see what I’m missing”. He knew it was lame, and that if the room ignored him, it was his own fault. It had always been the sticking point with the Room of Requirement; how to word what you needed. But he’d already thought it; if he passed the space three times and the door didn’t appear, he’d know the castle thought he’d lost the plot. 

He walked back and forth, slowly, three times. When he heard Draco gasp, he knew the door would be there when he opened his eyes. 

And it was; a large, intricately carved door appeared slowly on the wall, creaks and snaps of wood accompanying the deepening reality. When it was finally done it silenced, and the two men stared at it. 

“Well, there you are. Once again, Potter prevails.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry replied. He rubbed his hands together. “Are you coming in with me?”

Draco’s eyes widened in alarm. “I am not. McGonagall asked you to do it, not me.”

“You’re not the least bit curious?” Harry tried to tempt him, but he could see it wasn’t working. “Fine, then. I’ll be… right back.”

Draco leaned against the wall next to the comical tapestry, trolls depicted in pointe shoes and tutus. Harry cupped his hands around his mouth, blowing on the cold skin. Then he reached for the doorknob and found it warm to his touch. 

He opened it and stepped inside, his brow furrowed. 

What he was seeing didn’t make any sense.

He was looking at a homey scene from behind a high-backed leather sofa. Four people sat on it, their feet up on a vast matching ottoman. They were wearing thick socks printed in the style of Swedish sweaters, one large thin pair of feet in red socks, patterned in white, reindeers frolicking from left to right. Two of the other feet, obviously those of small kids, were wearing matching white socks patterned in red, and the last set of feet, on the end, was another adult wearing blue socks patterned in white. Across the room was a large fireplace with a fire burning brightly on the hearth, a large Christmas tree shining in a corner nearby. There were gifts piled beneath the colorfully decorated tree, and on the wall next to the fireplace hung a large television. The floors were covered with blond planks, polished to a high sheen, large throw rugs covering much of the space. More than anything Harry thought it looked like someone’s homey living room, and he recognized ‘Return of the Jedi’ on the tv.

The room was warm, and Harry wanted to lean into it, to join what looked like the happy family on the couch. Faintly, he could smell popcorn. Inexplicably drawn closer, he took a tentative step, just enough that he could look down on the heads of the people attached to the socks. All boys, they wore thick jeans and colorful jumpers. Two of the kids had curly black hair, and one, the oldest on the end, was sporting blue hair that matched his socks. 

Harry smiled, looking to the adult at the other end of the small lineup. And stared, his heart leaping into his throat. 

The adult had white-blond hair that was gently mussed and curled over his collar, and he was reaching across the two youngest to take popcorn out of the bowl on what could only be Teddy’s lap.

“What are you doing in there?” Draco called out, popping the white kernels into his mouth. “You’re missing the movie.”

Harry watched himself step into the doorway, holding a mobile to his ear, and holding up one finger in a ‘wait’ motion. The people on the couch went still. Finally a young voice asked Draco, ‘is it time?’

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “Let’s wait and see what your dad says.”

Harry’s hand went to his chest, spreading there. That was his kid? That was his kid. He had a kid, at least one, probably two. His heart slammed against his palm.

He watched himself punch a button on the mobile and turn to Draco, excitement on his own features. This was the craziest out of body experience, ever.

“Is it time?” Draco asked breathlessly, leaning forward. Harry’s doppelganger smiled slowly, delight in his eyes. It was like watching himself on tv, and it was weird. 

The Harry in the Room of Requirement nodded. “It’s time.”

Two boys, obviously twins, jumped up and began to bounce around the room, screaming ‘it’s time, it’s time’ over and over. Harry saw himself grab a coat and a scarf as Draco shoved his feet, with those very un-Draco like socks, into boots.

“Can you stay, Ted?” Draco asked a Teddy who looked like he was in his early to mid-twenties. He sported a scruff on his chin that matched the hair on his head. 

“Of course. Go get her.” Ted’s smile was brilliant.

The boys had changed their chant, and were now shouting, ‘we’ve got a sister, we’ve got a sister’.

Harry gasped, his heartbeat speeding. They had a girl. He watched as the Draco in the vision grinned at him, pulling vision Harry into a quick kiss. They each kissed the bouncing boys, maybe four, on the top of their heads as they came toward the door. Harry stepped out of the way just in time as they blew past him, hands gripped together, smiles spreading across handsome faces. And yes, watching himself, he could admit he was handsome.

And then they were gone, and the vision was fading and Harry found himself being pushed out of the door behind them. He even tried to grab the doorframe, he was so desperate to just – stay, to watch, to see the new baby, to be an actual part of what he was seeing. It was then he realized each of the two men who’d rushed out ahead of him were wearing rings, matching wedding rings, on their fingers.

Moments later, the door slammed behind him and Harry found himself standing in the cold seventh floor hallway, watching Draco uncross his arms and straighten away from the wall. 

“So?” Draco asked impatiently. “Is the room fixed? What did you see?”

Harry stared at him. Was the room fixed? He didn’t know what to say. 

What the hell _had_ he just seen?

TBC


	14. Sugar Apparently Cures All Ills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this chapter:

_“Is it time?” Draco asked breathlessly, leaning forward. Harry’s doppelganger smiled slowly, delight in his eyes. It was like watching himself on tv, and it was weird._

_The Harry in the Room of Requirement nodded. “It’s time.”_

_Two boys, obviously twins, jumped up and began to bounce around the room, screaming ‘it’s time, it’s time’ over and over. Harry saw himself grab a coat and a scarf as Draco shoved his feet, with those very un-Draco like socks, into boots._

_“Can you stay, Ted?” Draco asked a Teddy who looked like he was in his early to mid-twenties. He sported a scruff on his chin that matched the hair on his head._

_“Of course. Go get her.” Ted’s smile was brilliant._

_The boys had changed their chant, and were now shouting, ‘we’ve got a sister, we’ve got a sister’._

_Harry gasped, his heartbeat speeding. They had a girl. He watched as the Draco in the vision grinned at him, pulling vision Harry into a quick kiss. They each kissed the bouncing boys, maybe four, on the top of their heads as they came toward the door. Harry stepped out of the way just in time as the couple blew past him, hands gripped together, smiles spreading across handsome faces. And yes, watching himself, he could admit he was handsome._

_And then they were gone, and the vision was fading and Harry found himself being pushed out of the door behind them. He even tried to grab the doorframe, he was so desperate to just – stay, to watch, to see the new baby, to be an actual part of what he was seeing. It was then he realized each of the two men who’d rushed out ahead of him were wearing rings, matching wedding rings, on their fingers._

_Moments later, the door slammed behind him and Harry found himself standing in the cold seventh floor hallway, watching Draco uncross his arms and straighten away from the wall._

_“So?” Draco asked impatiently. “Is the room fixed? What did you see?”_

_Harry stared at him. Was the room fixed? He didn’t know what to say._

_What the hell _had_ he just seen?_

What had Draco just asked him? Oh, yes.

“No, not really. It still seems to be – off.” Harry knew he sounded like an idiot while Draco looked at him like he was, in fact, some kind of idiot. 

“Off, how? Is it still burned out, or…?”

Harry shook his head. “Not burned out, no, but not right either.”

“What the bloody hell does ‘not right’, mean? It either showed you what you required, or it didn’t.”

“I’m not sure, okay?” Harry knew he sounded a bit like a desperate mad man, but he didn’t care. His palms were damp and his heart was racing and he needed fresh air. In some place, some alternate reality, he was married to Draco Malfoy, they had twin boys and were even now meeting their new baby daughter.

“Just – let me talk to Hermione about it, okay?”

Draco curled his lip, an expression Harry hadn’t seen on his face since he’d returned to Hogwarts. “Oh, of course. By all means, talk to Hermione about it.” 

“Draco, come on. Don’t be mad. It was just confusing.”

“Mad? The only mad man I see is you, Potter.” He spit Harry’s last name the way he used to, and something in Harry’s chest began to ache. He didn’t want to go back to that place, to that animosity. 

“Draco,” he said softly. “Please.”

Draco stared at him, but some of his seething anger faded before Harry’s eyes. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” He went on. “I’ll go down to feed the baby at about seven, if you want to meet me there.”

“Potter,” Draco said, eyes narrowed, “you’re acting very oddly, which is saying something for you.”

Harry chuckled weakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Draco stared into his eyes for a long moment. “Yeah, fine, whatever,” he said finally. “I’ll see you at the clearing in the morning, and in the meantime I’ll go back through the books I brought from the Manor. I think one of us ought to care about what’s going wrong with the animals.”

It was a direct jab, and ordinarily Harry would have been all over it. After what he’d just seen the most he could manage was a distracted nod. Draco made a sound of annoyance, turned and started to stomp away. He whirled back. “Don’t think I’m letting this go. You _will_ tell me what you saw.” He raised his brows and waited. Finally, Harry nodded weakly. Now Draco did stomp away. The way his robes flared out behind him was so reminiscent of Snape Harry nearly found a laugh. Nearly.

He walked through the Hogwarts hallways in a fog. One minute he was standing in front of that ridiculous tapestry of dancing trolls, the next he was standing in front of Ron and Hermione’s door three floors below. The halls were more crowded than they’d been since he returned, it being after dinner. The kids were either going to the library to study, going to the Astrology tower for night classes, or heading to a rendezvous somewhere on campus. When he arrived on the floor with most of the staff quarters, he recognized Ron and Hermione’s doors and knocked just beneath one of the cute wreaths, burlap bows hanging from them, his mind a million miles away. When Hermione answered, she gave him a fond look tinged with exasperation.

“Honestly, Harry. You’re a houseguest; you don’t have to knock.” She opened the door wide and gestured him inside. 

He walked in, dropping onto the sofa and restlessly pulling the elastic band from his hair. He sat forward, running the fingers of both hands through the thick curls, dislodging them to spill to his shoulders. 

“Good heavens, Harry,” Hermione said, plopping into the armchair opposite him. “You always have had a tremendous amount of hair, but that’s just ridiculous.”

He leaned into the back of the sofa. “Says the woman with more hair than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She smiled, still studying him, her head angled to one side. 

“What?”

“You know, when I first saw the ‘man bun’…” she winked.

“Thank you, Ronald,” Harry muttered.

She laughed. “No aspersions cast on the spouse, now. At any rate, I was not a fan of the man bun. But now that I see you with it down, I guess I – “ she shrugged, “ – understand the appeal. I imagine there are people who like to get their hands in it.”

“Ms Granger-Weasley,” he said, hand spread on his chest, “you do shock me.”

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

“It isn’t true.”

She giggled. “Liar.”

“Okay,” he said, “men with hair kinks get off on it, I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll bet.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Okay, stop that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s weird.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again, scraping his nails on his scalp. She watched him for a few minutes, then finally leaned forward, apparently sensing, as she always had, when something was on his mind. “Okay,” she said. “Talk to me. Not that I’m not enjoying watching you molest your hair, but I can tell something is up.” She laced her fingers around one knee. “Did you find out something about the baby Thestral? Or what’s affecting the animals? You know, I saw something in one of those books, and I think we might be over-looking something important…”

“I was able to get into the Room of Requirement,” he said, cutting her off. She stared at him, her mouth still open. The silence that followed was startled, and expectant.

“And?” she prompted when he didn’t go on. 

“And – fuck.” He fisted his hands in his hair. 

“Harry, you’re starting to worry me.”

“Frankly, I’m a little worried,” he said. He released his hair and stared at her. 

“Why?” She held up her hand. “No, don’t answer that yet. I’m going to order up some hot chocolate, and then you can tell me everything.”

He nodded, and she went into the kitchen. He could hear her talking, but he stared into the fireplace, reliving each minute of his time in the Room of Requirement, startled by the painful longing it had launched. By the time she came back, it felt as if something brittle and jagged was broken in there, leaving him wounded and bleeding. She took one look at his face and instead of the chair, she sat down beside him. 

“Harry, what did you see? Was it awful?”

“No,” Harry said, his eyes stinging. “No, it was – pretty wonderful, actually.”

She caught his hand, squeezing. “Tell me.”

So he did. He told her everything, and the longer he talked, the wider her eyes became. 

“Harry,” she said finally, “Oh, my God. You and Draco?” she shook her head. “Why that should surprise me, I don’t know. Hasn’t it always been you and Draco?”

Harry laughed raggedly. “Hasn’t it.”

“You know,” she said after a moment, “what did you tell the room you needed?”

He frowned. “What?”

“What did you think of as you walked past the place where the door appeared?”

“Oh. Well, I couldn’t come up with anything, really, so I asked for…”

“What?” she prodded impatiently.

“I asked to see what I was missing.” He sighed, leaning forward, his face falling into his hands.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “And the room showed you a vision of you and Draco, married, with two and a half kids, all cozy and domestic.” She shook her head. 

“I _meant_ what was I missing in regards to the animals.”

“You know how literal the Room of Requirement has always been.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But how did it come up with _that_?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” said a bit wryly. “I can see how it happened. You’ve always had a bit of a thing for Draco. Oh, come on,” she said, looking at his skeptical expression, “if I didn’t know it’s completely biological, I’d say your lifelong fascination with a certain blond is one of the reasons you ended up gay. Although I think we could hypothesize that your being gay is the reason you’ve had a lifelong absorption with Draco. He’s very pretty.”

“He is,” Harry agreed, knowing to deny it was futile. “And he was standing right there when I accessed the room.”

She looked surprised. “He went with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Harry, that’s – huge. Draco hasn’t even gone to the seventh floor in all the time I’ve known him. Minerva told me one of the conditions of his return was that – “

“He never be forced to deal with the Room. I know. He told me.”

“He told you.” She shook her head. “He talks to no one about what happened in that room, not even me. And I was there.” She bit her lower lip for a moment. “Maybe what you saw truly wasn’t that far off, Harry.”

He opened his mouth to respond when a soft bell tone sounded, and the air above the coffee table swirled with gold glitter, then two mugs on a white tray appeared. One was completely normal sized and the other was – utterly ridiculous. A huge white mug, overflowing with marshmallows and dripping with chocolate sauce, then covered with sprinkles. There were even a few red ornaments tucked in next to it, highlighted by a small swath of tacky golden garland. Hermione took one look at it and began to laugh.

“What the hell, Hermione?” Harry said, frowning at her. “That can’t be for me.”

“I told the elves you were having a rough day. Apparently they thought sending you into a sugar coma was the answer to your problems.”

“Merlin’s balls. I’ll never be able to finish that.” Still, he took a marshmallow off the top and popped it into his mouth. 

“That’s probably a good thing,” she replied, a wicked twinkle in her eyes as she grabbed a small marshmallow, licking off the chocolate sauce and sprinkles. “I doubt Draco would be much attracted to a fat baby-daddy.”

Harry gave her a horrified look. “Oh, God. Shut up.” He threw another marshmallow at her, which she managed to snatch neatly from mid-air.

He shook his head as she popped the second marshmallow into her mouth with a mischievous smile.

TBC


	15. Morning at the Weasley’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_He opened his mouth to respond when a soft bell tone sounded, and the air above the coffee table swirled with gold glitter, then two mugs on a white tray appeared. One was completely normal sized and the other was – utterly ridiculous. It was a huge white mug of hot chocolate, overflowing with marshmallows and dripping with chocolate sauce, then covered with sprinkles. There were even a few red ornaments tucked in next to it, highlighted by a small swath of tacky golden garland. Hermione took one look at it and began to laugh._

_“What the hell, Hermione?” Harry said, frowning at her. “That can’t be for me.”_

_“I told the elves you were having a rough day. Apparently they thought sending you into a sugar coma was the answer to your problems.”_

_“Merlin’s balls. I’ll never be able to finish that.” Still, he took a marshmallow off the top and popped it into his mouth._

_“That’s probably a good thing,” she replied, a wicked twinkle in her eyes as she grabbed a small marshmallow, licking off the chocolate sauce and sprinkles. “I doubt Draco would be much attracted to a fat baby-daddy.”_

_Harry gave her a horrified look. “Oh, God. Shut up.” He threw another marshmallow at her, which she managed to snatch neatly from mid-air._

_He shook his head as she popped the second marshmallow into her mouth with a mischievous smile._

Harry slept fitfully that night, periods of wakefulness intermingled with dreams of long pale limbs and steamy kisses. He woke up at one point with a jerk, and it took him a moment to realize what had yanked him from sleep. He grimaced, embarrassed even though he was alone and he could cast a cleansing spell, which he did, making sure no one would ever know. But for Gods sakes, he hadn’t had a dream like that since he was fifteen. Clearly, it had been too long since he got laid, and his time in the Room of Requirement had reminded him of that fact. 

He never did manage to go back to sleep, and he felt it when he crawled, aching, from bed. His eyes felt like they were full of sand, and he stood for a long time under a very hot shower, then pulled his damp hair up to the crown of his head. He was simply too tired to bother to shave. When he grabbed his coat and scarf and walked down the hall into the living room, the scent of coffee coming from the kitchen nearly made him groan aloud. 

“Uncle Harry!!!”

Rose jumped out of her chair, milk from her cereal dripping down her little pointed chin. He didn’t care; when she threw her arms around his waist he hugged her, then picked up a napkin and wiped her chin.

“Rose,” Hermione said wearily from where she stood near a sleek, one cup coffee maker. There was already a cup sitting on the counter under a stasis spell, and she gestured toward it with her head. “Your Uncle Harry is not to be used as a napkin. And that’s for you.”

“Bless you,” Harry said, kissing the top of Rose’s head. It reminded him forcefully of the Room of Requirement vision from the night before, and he rubbed at the ache in his chest as he crossed to Hermione and picked up the coffee cup. Hugo, strapped into a battered wooden high chair, banged a spoon against his tray. 

“Baa!” He yelled. “Baa. Baa!”

Rose smiled at Harry. “It’s what a sheep says.”

“So it is,” Harry agreed. “No matter what color they are.”

Rose giggled. “Sheep are white, Uncle Harry.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, raising his brows at her. “Some sheep are white, and some sheep are black, and some sheep are brown. And on Ginger Island, where I live, some sheep are pink.”

“Pink sheep?” Rose’s blue eyes. Harry crossed his fingers over his heart. 

“I swear. I’ll take a picture and send it to you when I go home.”

Her eyes, so exactly the color of Ron’s, grew shiny with tears and her lower lip wobbled. 

“Oh, baby,” Harry put down his cup without even taking a sip and hurried to her, kneeling beside her and opening his arms. She went into them, pressing her face, once again, against the front of his oatmeal colored, cable knit jumper. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want you to go home,” she said, her voice shaking. “Even if you do have pink sheeps. I want you to stay here forever. If you go back, I’ll never see you again.”

“That’s not fair, Rose,” Hermione said. “You know Uncle Harry has to go home. He has patients, and a practice, and a house.”

“He has patients here,” Rose countered. “And he could live at Hogwarts. And… I don’t know what the other thing means.”

“A practice,” Hermione clarified. “When a person is a doctor, what they do is called a practice. You remember the clinic where Uncle Harry took care of the pretty blue dragons?”

Rose sniffed again. “I liked the dragons. I still want Uncle Harry to stay here.”

“Sta hee,” Hugo countered, his own lip beginning to quiver. 

“Oh, Gods,” Harry said, picking Rose up and sitting in her chair. “Your children are going to kill me.”

“My children,” Hermione set the coffee cup near his elbow, “are manipulative little stinkers.”

“I don’t stink,” Rose said, clearly insulted. Her heartbreak was apparently forgotten, and she leaned in close to Harry. “Hugo stinks sometimes,” she whispered conspiratorially. Hugo giggled. 

“Stinky,” he said.

“Oh, wonderful,” his mother said with an eye roll. “ _That_ word you can say.”

“Stinky, stinky.” Hugo grinned. “Stinky butt.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He bit his lower lip but when Rose began to giggle, he joined her.

“Such a charming child,” Hermione said dryly, leaning in to kiss her son’s cheek. She made a face when she pulled away, picking up a napkin to wipe her mouth. Harry took a sip of his coffee, then sighed in delight. 

“You make such a good cup of coffee, Hermione.”

“The elves made that coffee. I only make mine because they’re insulted by the idea of a Keurig, and have never really mastered the idea of cappuccino.”

“Ah, Still hooked on that, are you?” He couldn’t help but remember the time they’d been followed into a coffee shop by two Death Eaters. She smiled at him, clearly remembering the same. 

“You know,” she said, nibbling on a piece of perfectly browned toast. Harry took another off a plate in the middle of the table and took a bite. It was perfect. “I had a thought last night after you went to bed. I think you should go to the Ministry and access their Veterinary Medical records.”

Harry frowned. “Do you think I might be able to find something?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. But it might be worth a trip into London.”

Harry grimaced. “I’d kind of hoped to avoid the Ministry while I was here. The clerk staring in the Portkey office was bad enough.”

She made a faux sympathetic face, placing her hand over her heart. “Oh, poor famous Harry, being stared at by a smitten Sloane Ranger.”

“She wasn’t any such thing,” Harry handed Rose his toast after she leaned forward to take a nibble. 

“Rose Granger-Weasley,” Hermione snapped, “you do not take bites of other people’s breakfast!”

“Uncle Harry doesn’t mind,” Rose replied. She turned those enormous baby blues onto his face, and Harry was lost. “Do you?”

“If I say no, your Mummy will kick me in the shin,” he said seriously.

“Mummy, you would ‘t, would you?”

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione said in irritation, giving Harry a look. “Thank you so much for that.”

Harry grinned. “Any time.”

The Floo chimed. Arthur stepped through into the living room, his kind face wreathed in a smile and his faded red hair lifted around his head like a static charged corona. He was wearing tweed trousers and a faded cardigan that Harry remembered from when he’d been eleven and he’d made his first visit to the Burrow. The thought warmed him, and he smiled.

“Morning, Granger-Weasley’s,” Arthur said. “Ready to go see Grandma?” He gave Harry a pointed look. “And by the way, I have been instructed to tell you that if you don’t turn up for dinner on Sunday, she will never forgive you.”

“And she means it,” Hermione muttered, and she and Harry shared a commiserating look. 

“I can still hear well enough that I heard that,” Arthur said, looking over the top of his bifocals at his daughter in law. “I should pretend to be scandalized, even though I know it’s the truth.” He smiled at Hugo. “Good morning, Hugo, my lad.”

“Stinky butt!” Hugo announced.

Arthur took the tray off the highchair without batting an eyelash. “The same can be said for all of us occasionally.”

Hermione let her head fall onto the table, and Arthur patted her shoulder. 

“Chin up, love. Ronald used to regale us with stories about the various and assorted consistencies of his morning bowel movements.”

Hermione giggled into the tabletop before lifting her head. “Well, at least he comes by it honestly.”

“So he does.” Arthur grinned into Hugo’s little face as he settled the little boy on his hip. “Ready, Rosie?”

Rose came to her grandpa, taking his hand. “Grampa, Uncle Harry says there are pink sheep on Ginger Island.”

“Truly?” Arthur asked, eyes bright. 

Harry nodded. “Truly. And they’re about twice the size of British goats.”

“You’ll have to send some of their wool to Molly. I’d wager she’d love that.”

“I will,” Harry promised, thinking there was one Christmas present done. He’d send an owl to Anya and ask her to send some. 

Arthur chatted for a couple of minutes longer, then took the children and they disappeared into the Floo. Just as they disappeared, there was a knock on Ron and Hermione’s front door. She went to answer it and returned with a faintly uncomfortable looking Draco Malfoy. He was wearing his teaching robes under a long wool coat and a pale blue scarf, a black fur cap on his head. He looked wonderful, and Harry caught his breath. 

“Hagrid sent me for you,” he told Harry. “He was wondering where you were.”

“I told him seven,” Harry said, looking at the clock on the wall. He felt his face heat when he saw it was nearly eight. Hurrying, he scooped up his coat and scarf, wrapping it around his neck before slipping his arms into the jacket sleeves. 

“Draco,” Hermione said, “you don’t have classes today, do you?”

I don’t have classes on Tuesday or Wednesday, Hermione,” he said. “You know that.”

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at him. “I have two children under five,” she countered. “I’m lucky I know what day it is. At any rate, I told Harry I thought the two of you should go through the Veterinary records at the Ministry to see if there are any similar cases to what’s happening here. They’ve all been computerized, you know. I imagine between the two of you, you could do a search in a couple of hours.”

“The Ministry,” Draco said, clearly less than thrilled by the idea. 

“Oh, suck it up,” she scolded. “You’re an adult professor at Hogwarts. If anyone gives you a sketchy look, flip them the bird. Plus, you’ll be with Harry Potter.”

Harry winced. “Hermione, honestly.”

“Well, he will. And how long can you afford to stay? Couldn’t you use the help?”

Harry hadn’t even thought about how long he’d be staying. He was just getting used to the weather again, but he supposed he’d have to go back to Ginger before too long. It wasn’t fair to leave Jory and Anya alone at the clinic. He was surprised by how much the idea of leaving disappointed him. 

He looked over to find Draco studying him. “Do you have time to help today?”

“Of course,” Draco answered, looking away and shrugging. And blushing, again. “It’s a good idea, actually.”

Hermione gave him a slightly exasperated look. “Well, don’t damn me with faint praise.”

Draco’s head came back around. “What the hell does that mean?”

“To damn with faint praise?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded. “Also known as a back handed compliment, or a compliment you don’t really mean? Anyway,” she went to her kitchen counter and opened a drawer, taking out a postcard. She came back and handed it to Harry. He looked at it, smiling faintly. 

It showed a picture of a beautifully lit Tower Bridge at night, a large pine tree draped with blue lights and one of the turrets of the Tower off to one side. 

“What’s this for?” Harry asked. 

“Oh, there’s a lovely little bakery just here,” she pointed to a spot just off the bridge on the Tower side. “Ron and I went there the last time we were in town. They have wonderful coffee and sausage rolls.” She lowered her voice. “You never did get breakfast, and if he’s been down with Hagrid, he hasn’t, either.”

“And you are not remotely subtle,” he muttered. 

“It won’t kill the two of you to talk. Who knows what you might find out about each other?”

Harry glared at her, but it didn’t stop her smile. 

“Sorry, gents, but I have a quarterly final set with my seventh year History of Magic class first thing this morning. I need to go unlock the door, and you need to go feed a baby Thestral.”

“So I do,” Harry agreed. He looked over to Draco. “Shall we?”

“Certainly, Potter,” he said mildly, heading for the door.

Harry gave Hermione a pointed look when she smirked, then turned to follow Draco to the door.

He still had absolutely no idea what to tell Draco about what he’d seen in the Room of Requirement.

TBC


	16. The Guy With the Girly Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_Hermione gave Draco a slightly exasperated look. “Well, don’t damn me with faint praise.”_

_Draco’s head came back around. “What the hell does that mean?”_

_“To damn with faint praise?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded. “Also known as a back handed compliment, or a compliment you don’t really mean? Anyway,” she went to her kitchen counter and opened a drawer, taking out a postcard. She came back and handed it to Harry. He looked at it, smiling faintly._

_It showed a picture of a beautifully lit Tower Bridge at night, a large pine tree draped with blue lights and one of the turrets of the Tower off to one side._

_“What’s this for?” Harry asked._

_“Oh, there’s a lovely little bakery just here,” she pointed to a spot just off the bridge on the Tower side. “Ron and I went there the last time we were in town. They have wonderful coffee and sausage rolls.” She lowered her voice. “You never did get breakfast, and if he’s been down with Hagrid, he hasn’t, either.”_

_“And you are not remotely subtle,” he muttered._

_“It won’t kill the two of you to talk. Who knows what you might find out about each other?”_

_Harry glared at her, but it didn’t stop her smile._

_“Sorry, gents, but I have a quarterly final set with my seventh year History of Magic class first thing this morning. I need to go unlock the door, and you need to go feed a baby Thestral.”_

_“So I do,” Harry agreed. He looked over to Draco. “Shall we?”_

_“Certainly, Potter,” he said mildly, heading for the door._

_Harry gave Hermione a pointed look when she smirked, then turned to follow him to the door._

_He still had absolutely no idea what to tell Draco about what he’d seen in the Room of Requirement._

“So, do you ever plan to talk about it?”

Harry turned his head and looked at Draco, caught off guard. As they trudged toward the Hogwarts gates, planning to use the Apparition point in Hogmeade, Harry’s mind was still back in the clearing with baby Aymee. He’d begun calling her that in his head; Anya had told him it meant ‘beloved’, and he might not have said it aloud, but he was quite hopelessly in love with her big black eyes and her long lashes, and her wobbly little legs. Far more wobbly today than they should be, and he knew she was deteriorating even as he managed to get calories into her. Hagrid and Draco both assured him that without his means of feeding her she’d probably already be dead. It didn’t make him feel any better, particularly when a unicorn struggled out of the nearby trees and collapsed near their feet. She was dead, but she was in bad shape. 

“Talk about what?” he asked distractedly. 

“About what?” Draco huffed in exasperation. “About what, he says.”

“Well, you’ll forgive me, Malfoy,” he managed not to sneer ‘Malfoy’ the way he did ‘Potter’. “But I’ve got a good bit on my mind right now, so if you’d clarify…”

“The Room of Requirement,” Draco interrupted. “More pointedly, what you saw last night when you accessed it.”

Harry turned his face away. He’d actually thought about this, in the deep hours of the night when he wasn’t so turned on he couldn’t think straight. 

“If I tell you it was – intensely personal, can we leave it at that?”

Draco gave him a disbelieving look. “No.”

Harry shook his head, looking up into the overcast gray sky. “I should have known that’s what you’d say.” Harry inhaled deeply, blowing out a ploom of steam. “All right,” Harry said, steeling himself, “let’s just say I saw myself, in a long term relationship, with – a family.” He didn’t think he could be blamed for leaving out certain pertinent details.

Draco was staring at him, a frown between his brows. “And what did you ask for?”

“What I’d been missing,” Harry answered, feeling his face heat.

“Hmm,” Draco linked his hands at his lower back as he trudged through the snow. “And instead of providing you details about what’s wrong with the animals, the room provided you with a glimpse of a personal life you don’t have?”

“Pretty clearly.” Harry wondered why he was irritated that Draco hadn’t even asked about ‘who’ the room saw him with.

“That’s very odd.” Draco stared into the distance. “Although, perhaps you surprised it. That was an oddly unfocused question.”

“So Hermione said,” Harry complained. 

“Well, of course she did.” It did entertain Harry that Draco sounded nearly as disgruntled as Harry felt. 

They walked down the main street in Hogsmeade, and no one even glanced at them twice. It was one of the things Harry had always loved about the small village; for the whole of his life, it was one of two places where he could be himself, where no one would stare at him. Hogsmeade, and the Burrow. In fact, Draco attracted more attention than Harry did. People smiled, and waved, and greeted him ‘morning, Professor Malfoy’. He returned each greeting with a friendly smile or a wave, and Harry watched him with growing surprise. Like the Draco he’d watched with Hermione and his students, this was a very different Draco than Harry had seen before. One he liked, a lot. Harry thought of the RoR the night before, and the ache in his chest, the one that was turning up often enough to almost be considered an old friend, reasserted itself. 

“Hello,” Draco said pointedly, and Harry startled. He’d apparently kept walking when Draco had stopped several feet behind him.

“Sorry. What?” 

“I asked if you planned to accompany me. The Apparition point?”

Draco gestured, and Harry realized he walked at least ten feet beyond the entrance to the Apparition alley.

“Oh, sorry.” 

He hurried back, feeling his face heat. 

“Yours, or mine?” Draco asked. Harry blinked at him, startled. 

“What?”

“Your side-along, or mine?” Draco said slowly.

“Oh.” Harry shook his head. “Sorry. Of course. Better be yours. I’m obviously distracted.”

Draco gave him a sardonic look. “Obviously.”

Harry momentarily wished the snowy street would open up and swallow him.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

They spent hours in the Ministry archives, after one of the more uncomfortable walks through the hallowed halls Harry could remember. He’d thought people would at least be subtle; they were not.

“Wait, the guy with the hair; is that HARRY POTTER?”

“I thought he lived in the Virgin Islands somewhere.”

“And is that DRACO MALFOY with him? How weird is that?”

“Obviously, extra ordinarily weird,” Draco said with a twist to his lips, and Harry fought a smile.

“Who ever thought Harry would wear a man-bun?” A witch asked as they passed.

“Not me,” Draco said. “It’s so girly.”

“Hey, shut it, you,” Harry said with a laugh. “I’ll have you know that half the men on Ginger have either dreds, or a man bun.”

“And they’re probably Caribbean and stunning to begin with.”

“Are you insinuating something there, Malfoy?”

“Nope.” Draco said with a cheeky grin. “Saying it clearly.” He looked over at Draco as they walked. “You. Are not – ” He hesitated. “Caribbean.”

Harry laughed. “No, I’m not,” he agreed. “They mostly have beautiful tawny gold skin, and I,” he shrugged. “Well, I don’t.”

Draco gave him an incredulous look. “I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you haven’t exactly the complexion of an Englishman at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m tan,” Harry agreed. “But theirs is,” he gave a delighted little shudder, “Well, it’s delicious.”

Malfoy’s cheeks were pink. “Have a lot of experience with their skin, do you?”

Harry grinned at him. “Quite a bit, actually, yes. Not only is it that delightful color, but it’s smooth as satin.”

When Malfoy's blush went even deeper, Harry fought not to tease him. 

They didn’t emerge from the archives until after dark, and Harry was distinctly discouraged by then. They’d checked every mention of wasting diseases in animals in Northern Scotland, and there were a few. They just didn’t sound like what was happening at Hogwarts. As they walked out through the Ministry doors, and a cold wind whipped down the street, Harry walked with his head down, starring at the thin covering of filthy snow on the sidewalk. 

“Potter,” Draco said. When Harry looked over at him, his expression was concerned. “Don’t get discouraged. You’ll figure it out.”

“You think so?” Harry rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. A few curls had escaped from the elastic and he freed the rest, pulling the stretching band onto his wrist and running his hands through the mass, pulling it up and twisting it back onto his crown. “I feel like I’m beating my head against the wall with this thing.”

He looked over at Draco only to find him staring, and the streetlights showed that his cheeks, once again, were bright pink. “What?”

“What?” Draco said at the same time. 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing. Listen, are you hungry? Because I’m starving.

“I am hungry. We never did get those sausage rolls.”

“I totally forgot.” Harry stopped, looking back and forth for a minute. “Tower Bridge is – “ he pointed, “this way, right?”

“Yes. I hasn’t moved in five years.”

“Funny,” Harry said wryly. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve been to the Ministry.”

“I could tell by the reaction of your fans today,” Draco teased. “They certainly seemed starved for the sight of you.”

Harry grimaced. “I hate going there.”

“Me, too,” Draco quipped. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Let’s go eat.”

When they walked into the small bakery it was mostly deserted, save one table in the far corner with a couple of twenty somethings. It was festively decorated, garlands around all the large windows and a Christmas Tree by the counter, red bows and silver balls tucked in amongst the evergreens. And on each table there was a small tree, bent nearly in two, one large red ball hanging from the top. Harry saw them and began to laugh.

Draco merely looked confused. “What’s funny?”

“The Charlie Brown trees,” he said, gesturing.

“What, pray tell, is a Charlie Brown tree?”

“Oh, come on. The trees.” He pointed again. “Charlie Brown trees.”

“Potter, you repeating it isn’t clarifying the phrase. Why are these trees named after a man named ‘Brown’?”

Harry sputtered, then bit the laugh back. He could see that not understanding wasn’t amusing Draco in the slightest. “It’s an American cartoon, drawn by a man named Charles Shultz. It’s called ‘Peanuts’.”

“Peanuts?” Draco said, following Harry to a nearby table. They each removed scarves and coats, hanging them on the back of old-fashioned kitchen table chairs, all chrome and red vinyl. “As in the nut, or…”

Harry grinned. “I’m actually not sure why it’s called that. It’s about a little kid, Charlie Brown, his dog Snoopy and his friends. I think they’re supposed to about six or seven-years-old. But they’re hilarious. And there’s this Christmas special, where Charlie is supposed to get a tree, and he picks this – total tiny stick tree because he feels sorry for it.”

They took seats at the table, and Draco listened in fascination at Harry finished telling him the story of the tree. And not once did he feel uncomfortable telling Draco Malfoy about a Muggle children’s Christmas special. 

“And so, this is the tree?” Draco said, reaching out and running beautiful long fingers over the bend of the little tree. 

“Well, sort of. It’s got more greenery on it than the one in the show. It truly was just a stick. A scrawny, spindly one at that.”

“But at the end, it transformed into a full, beautiful tree because it was loved?” Draco looked up at him, a small, tentative smile on his face. 

“I’ve always believed love is a huge ingredient in healing. I’ve certainly seen it with my patients. Pets always seem to do better than shelter animals. Of course, that changes when they get to us.”

“Why is that?” 

Harry shrugged sheepishly. “We usually either find them a home, or… keep them. The island has so many strays, and they reproduce so, lots of homeless animals.” Harry grinned slightly. “Plus, the people at the shelter know we’re complete suckers.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Draco said with a knowing smile. “It’s you whose the sucker. You may not be saving an entire population anymore, but it’s you, Saint Potter, saving civilization one puppy at a time.”

If his tone had been snide, it might’ve been an insult. But it wasn’t; it was said so fondly Harry couldn’t imagine it was anything other than what it was. Draco was teasing him, and Harry liked it. A lot. 

“Sorry, gents.” An older lady stopped next to their table, pulling a tablet from her old-fashioned apron and a pencil from behind her ear. She had ginger hair streaked with gray, and a slightly round figure that immediately reminded Harry of Molly Weasley. “I was taking fresh sausage rolls out of the oven. Can I interest you?”

They exchanged a look, and Harry grinned. 

“We’ll take two.”

“Four.”

He gave Draco a startled look. “Hey, I’m hungry.”

Harry looked to the waitress, who waited with her pencil poised, one brow arched.

“We’ll take four.”

TBC


	17. Musty Books and Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part:

_They took seats at the table, and Draco listened in fascination as Harry finished telling him the story of the tree. And not once did he feel uncomfortable telling Draco Malfoy about a Muggle children’s Christmas special._

_“And so, this is the tree?” Draco said, reaching out and running beautiful long fingers over the bend of the little tree._

_“Well, sort of. It’s got more greenery on it than the one in the show. It truly was just a stick. A scrawny, spindly one at that.”_

_“But at the end, it transformed into a full, beautiful tree because it was loved?” Draco looked up at him, a small, tentative smile on his face._

_“I’ve always believed love is a huge ingredient in healing. I’ve certainly seen it with my patients. Pets always seem to do better than shelter animals. Of course, that changes when they get to us.”_

_“Why is that?”_

_Harry shrugged sheepishly. “We usually either find them a home, or… keep them. The island has so many strays, and they reproduce so, lots of homeless animals.” Harry grinned slightly. “Plus, the people at the shelter know we’re complete suckers.”_

_“It’s you, isn’t it?” Draco said with a knowing smile. “It’s you who's the sucker. You may not be saving an entire population anymore, but it’s you, Saint Potter, saving civilization one puppy at a time.”_

_If his tone had been snide, it might’ve been an insult. But it wasn’t; it was said so fondly Harry couldn’t imagine it was anything other than what it was. Draco was teasing him, and Harry liked it. A lot._

_“Sorry, gents.” An older lady stopped next to their table, pulling a tablet from her old-fashioned apron and a pencil from behind her ear. She had ginger hair streaked with gray, and a slightly round figure that immediately reminded Harry of Molly Weasley. “I was taking fresh sausage rolls out of the oven. Can I interest you?”_

_They exchanged a look, and Harry grinned._

_“We’ll take two.”_

_“Four.”_

_He gave Draco a startled look. “Hey, I’m hungry,” Draco said a bit defensively. “It’s been a long day.”_

_“So it has,” Harry said, then looked to the waitress, who waited with her pencil poised, one brow arched. He grinned._

_“We’ll take four.”_

The sky was gun metal gray the next morning, and Harry stared down at the tiny Thestral, the wand humming in his hand as he monitored her, slowly feeding her with gentle pulses of the bulb attached to the tube. She looked up at him with utter and complete trust, and his heart hurt. She was losing weight, and losing time, and he felt like a complete failure. They’d read every book in three magical libraries, or as much as a person could read in two long afternoons and late into the night each of those days. He was exhausted, and frustrated, and fairly certain he was being a terrible houseguest. Hermione told him he wasn’t, but even Rose seemed to be avoiding him and that morning at breakfast, Hugo had thrown toast at him, glowering because he wasn’t being paid attention to. There were moments when all Harry wanted was to get a Portkey and go home. 

But then he’d see Draco, and he’d remember the scene in the Room of Requirement, and the idea of returning to Ginger alone almost made him sick. Which was stupid, because he and Draco were at best feeling their way toward a tentative friendship. 

He was preoccupied, and accidentally pumped too much of the ground meat into the tube and the baby gagged.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, running his hand gently down her throat. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Come on. Easy, now.”

She shuddered and her eyes closed, and Harry had a moment of unfiltered horror until she inhaled through her nose. Her long lashes fluttered and then her eyes opened again, and Harry sagged on his knees in relief. 

A hand closed on his shoulder, long pale fingers squeezing the muscle just next to his neck, and Harry allowed himself to lean into the grip for a moment. Finally, he straightened and gently pulled the tube from the baby's throat, wiping it down and coiling it into a loop around his shoulder. 

“How she doin’, Harry?” Hagrid asked. He looked as tired as Harry felt, and he just couldn’t bear to give him any more bad news. They’d lost the unicorn overnight, and one of the Abraxans was now showing symptoms. He glanced over at Draco, who was watching him calmly, face nearly expressionless. 

“She’s holding her own,” Harry answered, prevaricating. He tried to push up and felt a moment of alarm when his knees wouldn’t lock, and he staggered. There was immediately a firm hand under his elbow, helping him to firm his stance. He climbed to his feet and turned his head, finding Draco right there, eyes holding his. 

“You look like hell,” Draco said softly. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Too many sausage rolls,” Harry lied, trying for a smile. Draco shook his head. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Probably.”

Draco turned to Hagrid, not releasing Harry’s arm. “Hagrid, this fool has already nearly worn himself to nothing, trying to figure out what’s going on with these animals.”

Hagrid looked guilty, and Harry felt sick.

“Don’t do that,” Draco said softly, but firmly. “You’ll just make him feel more guilty than he already does.”

“Oh, Harry. This has been going on now fer weeks. If anyone should blame themselves, it's me. I just kept hoping it would clear up on its own. Always has before.”

Harry and Draco both stiffened. “Before?” Harry said. “This has happened before?”

“About every ten years,” Hagrid answered. “I have books from the old Magical Creatures professors…the pattern was throwed off during the war, cuz so many creatures were lost in the final battle.” He cleared his throat roughly, turning away, staring out over the grounds. “I jes kept hopin’ this time was different. Probably bein a damned fool.”

“Hagrid,” Draco said, clearly hanging onto his patience with difficulty, “you do know that Potter and I have been scouring every library we could think of for the last two days, right?”

“Well, sure. But what I got is just scribblin’ in a bunch of dusty log books. I doubt it’ll tell you anything other than what I just did.”

Draco took a deep breath and opened his mouth, and Harry squeezed his arm. Draco looked over and Harry shook his head slightly.

“Can we see them, Hagrid? Please?”

“Well, a course,” he answered. “Come on up ta the hut.”

The little Thestral wobbled to her feet, and Harry felt a quick flare of hope.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

“He’s right,” Draco said, running his long fingers through his hair. “Every ten years, during early winter, animals sicken. It’s never the same animals, and some years are worse than others. It didn’t happen in nineteen ninety-eight, when it should have, and the decimation of certain herds seems to have changed the pattern somewhat.” “Did this happen when we were here?” Harry gripped the thick hair at his crown, pulling almost until his eyes stung, staring at the pages in exasperation. They were seated at Hagrid’s table in the two large chairs, feet inches above the floor. Harry felt like he was still in primary, between the giant furniture and the huge cups Hagrid had poured tea for them in before he went out to feed his other creatures. Draco took one sip before making a disgusted face and pushing it away; Harry forced himself to drink half a cup and choke down a cauldron cake. He never had liked them, and he worried for is teeth.

“It happened before we got here, then the pattern was thrown off by the war,” Draco said, turning the book he was leafing through. “Grubbly-Plank wrote the one before we got here, and I think this is Pomona’s handwriting.” He pointed at an entry that said; ‘Animals sickening from something. Lost two adult Thestrals, one baby, and an entire horde of Bowtruckles. (Harry learned Bowtruckles were a ‘horde’ when he’d been in school, and found it amusing.) I hope Hagrid can return soon.’

It was dated December 14th, 1997. While Draco had a monster living in his house, and Harry was living in a tent somewhere in the Forest of Dean. 

“The pattern doesn’t make sense, then,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Nineteen ninety-seven, but then not until now.” 

“Yeah, that’s a break of sixteen-years.” Draco rubbed frown lines between his brows, and Harry wanted to reach over and do it for him, touch the smooth skin, ease the worry.

He straightened abruptly, and Draco frowned at him. 

“What?” 

“You know who we need?” Harry smiled slowly, and Draco sighed.

“Hermione.” They said it in unison, and immediately began to collect the books into a pile.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

“Good heavens,” Hermione said, looking up at them as they entered the apartment, weighed down with the huge log books. She was sitting next to the fireplace, shoes at her side, feet up on an ottoman. “What are those?” Harry saw the light of curiosity in her eyes. Anything to do with books, and Hermione lit up like her Christmas tree.

“Log books,” Draco said, dropping them onto the coffee table with a dusty thud. “Decades worth. And apparently, the phenomenon we’re seeing with the animals has happened before.”

“Really.” She leaned forward eagerly. “When?”

“Every ten years since the Care of Magical Creatures teachers began to keep records. Until 1997.”

She shook her head. “No. No it hasn’t. I mean, I’ve never heard of it…”

“Apparently attrition during the war threw the pattern off. But if you look, it’s there. We thought…” Draco looked to Harry.

“We need your brain, Hermione. There’s obviously something here, but we aren’t seeing it.”

She looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was one-forty-five, and she scowled. 

“Dammit, I have a class.”

Harry chuckled. It was the only time she cursed; when there was a book she wanted to study, and there was no time.

“All right,” she slipped her feet into her shoes, “I’m done at four today, and can be back here by four ten.” She raised one eyebrow. “And what about you, Professor Malfoy?”

“I did tell Minerva,” he said wryly. She narrowed her eyes. “I set first term finals for January, so the students could study over their break. I imagine they’re packing this afternoon in anticipation of taking the train home on Saturday. Or off snogging behind a bush.”

“Oh, speaking of the train,” she said, looking at Harry. “Teddy is coming to dinner. I thought you’d like to spend another evening with him before he went home, perhaps without his ‘mates’.” She smiled.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said, adding his books to Draco’s, then sitting down on the soft sofa. He felt like he was melting into a cloud, and sighed, then closed his eyes. 

He heard Hermione and Draco talking, and tried to concentrate on their conversation, but their voices sounded further and further away. He made an effort to listen, he truly did, but he couldn’t. When he let go, he simply drifted away.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

He came awake the way he’d drifted asleep, softly, body settled in the softness of Hermione’s sofa. He shifted and sighed, then opened his eyes.

He was now laying stretched out on the full-length sofa, and he could tell from the way his feet felt he was no longer wearing his heavy boots. His feet were toasty warm, and when he looked down and around a thick black curl that had escaped to fall over one eye, he discovered a thick knit afghan covering him from his shoulders to his feet. He pushed the errant curl behind his ear and up onto his elbows. 

Draco was sitting across from him in Hermione’s chair, his feet up on her ottoman and one of the log books open in his lap. The little frown was back between his eyes. 

“You’re going to get wrinkles,” he said softly, hoping not to startle the man across from him, but Draco jumped anyway.

“Potter, honest to Merlin.” He glared at him. “And I shall _never_ have wrinkles. My mother has devised a face cream that makes wrinkles abandon her face in terror. I’m sure she’ll give me the formula – before I die.” His lips curled wryly. 

“She does look good,” Harry said. 

“Doesn’t she?” Draco grinned, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Startled, he sat up, looking down at his boots now sitting next to the couch side by side.

“You didn’t – ” Harry said. Draco looked over him, expression changing to horrified. 

“I did not,” he said firmly. “Hermione did.”

“I should’ve figured.” 

He pulled the band from his hair and let it fall around his shoulders, trying to run his fingers through it but it was hopelessly tangled. He pushed it back over his shoulder, looking over at Draco.

He was staring at Harry, his mouth slightly open and his cheeks stained pink. It suddenly dawned on Harry that Draco had a ‘hair thing’. For his hair. He felt a mingling of arousal and – perhaps a little disappointment. Because if it was just a hair thing, then maybe that was all it was. He pushed the afghan down and stood.

“I’m gonna – “ he gestured towards his head. “I need a brush for this mess.”

“Sure,” Draco said a bit weakly. “Got it.”

Harry glanced at the clock and saw that Hermione would be home in about twenty minutes.

“I think I’ll take a detour into the kitchen and put on some coffee. I don’t know about you, but I could use a cobweb clearer before the woman with a thousand questions arrives.” He gave Draco what felt like a very weak smile. 

“Potter, just order it from the House-elves.”

“I will not,” Harry said in pretended afront. “I make much better coffee than the elves.”

He had since Hermione showed him how to use the brewer, at any rate. It was one of those old-fashioned drip machines, and the smell while the coffee brewed was like slow, hot sex, only less sweaty. 

“I have to see this to believe it,” Draco said, pushing to stand. Harry realized he’d taken off his own shoes, and his feet looked long and slender in perfect gray knit socks. With them both standing there in stocking feet, him with his hair down and Draco’s faintly mussed, it reminded him way too much of what he’d seen in the Room. He turned and walked away, hoping to put some distance between them, but Draco was right behind him. 

He stood just feet from Harry while he filled the pot with water, poured it into the machine, then filled another compartment with ground coffee. Aunt Petunia had made him use an old-fashioned upright percolator type, and she always complained he made the coffee too strong but she never got up to make it herself. His hair swung forward as he pushed the buttons and waited for the coffee to begin to brew.

“Well, that looked remarkably efficient,” Draco said. 

“Thanks,” Harry said. He turned, leaning on one hand braced on the counter. “So,” he said slowly. “You have a hair thing.”

Draco blinked, his cheeks turning pink. Harry loved when he blushed. 

“Uhm, what does that mean, exactly?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Draco, you have. A hair. Thing. As in, you get off on blokes with long hair. Which frankly might be a little weird, given your father’s hair.”

“Oh, shut it, you arse.” Draco made a gagging face. “My father had an unnatural relationship with his hair. He used more product than my mother. And your hair is nothing like his. His was colorless and straight and, well, if I grew mine out it would be just like it. Yours, on the other hand, is thick, and black, and curly. And, uhm…”

“See?” Harry said. “A hair thing.”

Draco crossed his arms, looking like nothing quite so much as Rosie in a sulk. He muttered something, and Harry arched a brow. 

“Pardon?”

Draco sighed. “I said, just your hair.”

Harry smiled slowly, taking a couple of slow steps closer. “Really?”

“If you try to make me repeat that, I will cheerfully kick you right in the balls.”

Harry laughed, then caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped advancing, and Draco’s lips quirked. Harry took a deep breath and glanced up, and Draco followed his gaze. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said, face turning that charming dark pink. “Your friend is insane.”

“Your friend, too,” Harry managed. Then he didn’t want to talk anymore. He caught Draco by his dark gray belt loops, pushing him into the doorframe directly under the small bouquet with the white berries, mossy leaves and a red satin bow. 

Draco gasped, his full lips open and his eyes wide. Harry could see the edges of his white teeth, a glimpse of his tongue, and he hardened in a dizzying rush. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, and he watched Draco’s pupils dilate until they nearly eclipsed the silvery gray of his eyes. 

“Are you?” Draco asked weakly. “Sometime today, I hope?”

Harry smiled faintly, anticipation spiking as he leaned in.

TBC


	18. A Hair Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_“Potter, just order it from the House-elves.”_

_“I will not,” Harry said in pretended afront. “I make much better coffee than the elves.”_

_He had since Hermione showed him how to use the brewer, at any rate. It was one of those old-fashioned drip machines, and the smell while the coffee brewed was like slow, hot sex, only less sweaty._

_“I have to see this to believe it,” Draco said, pushing to stand. Harry realized he’d taken off his own shoes, and his feet looked long and slender in perfect gray knit socks. With them both standing there in stocking feet, him with his hair down and Draco’s faintly mussed, it reminded him way too much of what he’d seen in the Room. He turned and walked away, hoping to put some distance between them, but Draco was right behind him._

_He stood just feet from Harry while he filled the pot with water, poured it into the machine, then filled another compartment with ground coffee. Aunt Petunia had made him use an old-fashioned upright percolator type, and she always complained he made the coffee too strong but she never got up to make it herself. His hair swung forward as he pushed the buttons and waited for the coffee to begin to brew._

_“Well, that looked remarkably efficient,” Draco said._

_“Thanks,” Harry said. He turned, leaning on one hand braced on the counter. “So,” he said slowly. “You have a hair thing.”_

_Draco blinked, his cheeks turning pink. Harry loved when he blushed._

_“Uhm, what does that mean, exactly?”_

_Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Draco, you have. A hair. Thing. As in, you get off on blokes with long hair. Which frankly might be a little weird, given your father’s hair.”_

_“Oh, shut it, you arse.” Draco made a gagging face. “My father had an unnatural relationship with his hair. He used more product than my mother. And your hair is nothing like his. His was colorless and straight and, well, if I grew mine out it would be just like it. Yours, on the other hand, is thick, and black, and curly. And, uhm…”_

_“See?” Harry said. “A hair thing.”_

_Draco crossed his arms, looking like nothing quite so much as Rosie in a sulk. He muttered something, and Harry arched a brow._

_“Pardon?”_

_Draco sighed. “I said, just your hair.”_

_Harry smiled slowly, taking a couple of slow steps closer. “Really?”_

_“If you try to make me repeat that, I will cheerfully kick you right in the balls.”_

_Harry laughed, then caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped advancing, and Draco’s lips quirked. Harry took a deep breath and glanced up, and Draco followed his gaze._

_“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” he said, face turning that charming dark pink. “Your friend is insane.”_

_“Your friend, too,” Harry managed. Then he didn’t want to talk anymore. He caught Draco by his dark gray belt loops, pushing him into the doorframe directly under the small bouquet with the white berries, mossy leaves and a red satin bow._

_Draco gasped, his full lips open and his eyes wide. Harry could see the edges of his white teeth, a glimpse of his tongue, and he hardened in a dizzying rush._

_“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, and he watched Draco’s pupils dilate until they nearly eclipsed the silvery gray of his eyes._

_“Are you?” Draco asked weakly. “Sometime today, I hope?”_

_Harry smiled faintly, anticipation spiking as he leaned in._

Harry’s hands tightened around Draco’s hips, his thumbs pressing in just in front of his sharp hipbones. He pulled Draco against his body, and he made a slightly weak sound just before Harry’s lips closed over his. 

The thought that flitted through his mind was Draco tasted sweet; like brown sugar mixed with cinnamon, and he dimly remembered the plate of gingerbread boys in the middle of the kitchen table. The recollection was there and gone, and his erection was so demanding that sensible thought was rendered impossible. 

Draco angled his hips, and Harry felt his answering burgeoning hardness against his thigh. Draco’s hands spread and slid up Harry’s chest, onto his shoulders, and then further yet until his fingers spread and sank deeply into Harry’s hair. He moaned into Harry’s open mouth, and Harry took the opportunity to slip his tongue between Draco’s teeth. Draco stroked through Harry’s curls, his fingertips moving on Harry’s scalp and his nails moving gently from his crown to his nape. It felt amazing, and all Harry could think was that he wanted him underneath him, wanted to be inside of him so much that it was almost overwhelming. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s slender waist, pulling him from the doorframe, walking him backwards. Draco made a kind of adorable little squeak that sounded like a chipmunk as he was propelled in reverse, then he yelped as Harry pushed him down on his back on the couch.

“Merlin’s pants, Potter,” he said, sounding irritated but only until Harry lowered his weight down onto his prone body. “Oh, gods,” he moaned, spreading his long, slender thighs, pushing up with his feet flat on the sofa cushions. Harry reached between them, finding Draco’s hardness with the palm of his hand and stroking him firmly. 

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, grinding his hips. “There. Right there.”

Harry moved his mouth to Draco’s throat. “What? Not here?” He stroked further back, finding the round fullness of Draco’s balls. 

“Oh, that’s – “ Draco shuddered, letting his head fall back. “That should be illegal.” 

Harry chuckled against his throat. “Ah, but it isn’t. What about – this?”

Harry pressed behind Draco’s balls, running his fingers along the crease between the full globes of his arse. Draco let out a guttural groan, and it was the sexiest thing Harry had ever heard. He moved his hand and pressed Draco’s thighs wide, holding him behind his knees and rolling his hips forward, frotting against him. Draco gasped, his hands curling around, fingers digging into Harry’s arse, lips seeking Harry’s open mouth. Their kisses grew in desperation, and one of Draco’s legs curled over Harry’s hip.

Draco grabbed Harry’s hair, and he pulled hard enough to hurt. Harry pulled back, about to complain at the rough handling, when he realized Draco was pushing against his shoulders. 

“Door,” he gasped. “Someone is coming through the door.”

“Oh, shit.” 

It was nearly painful, stopping in that moment, but Harry managed to scramble back, sitting in the corner. Even though Draco had been the one to realize they were about to be walked in on, he didn’t seem able to coordinate his long limbs. Harry reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulling him up to sit in the middle of the couch. He grimaced, then pulled a pillow over his lap. 

“Oh, that’s subtle,” Harry said as keys rattled once again in the lock. 

Draco looked pointedly at the bulge behind Harry’s fly. “Like that’s any better.”

Harry started to retort, but the words were garbled in a laugh and he covered his face with both hands. “Oh, Gods,” he moaned, “I’m too old for this.”

“Shut it, you.”

“I’m home!” Hermione called out. 

“No shit,” Draco muttered, and Harry laughed harder. “Oh, will you stop, you lunatic?”

“Can’t,” Harry sputtered. “Absolutely can not.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.” Harry heard Hermione stop in the doorway, and his hilarity grew. Draco smacked him, and Harry grabbed his hand, refusing to release it when Draco tried to yank away. He pressed it against his chest, giggling, and Draco pinched his nipple.

“Ouch,” Harry tried to give him a stern look, but it didn’t work. He should have been embarrassed, he supposed, but he wasn’t. 

“Why do I feel like I interrupted something?” Hermione asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “There you have it; one of the finest minds of her generation.”

Harry uncovered his face, pushing back his hair. “Hermione,” Harry said, turning to look up at his friend, who was watching him with amusement. “Do you remember that time Molly and Arthur were out of town, I think they’d gone to take care of Aunt Mildred, and …”

“You don’t need to finish that story,” she held up her hands, her face flushing pink. “I remember.”

“Well, I don’t know the story,” Draco complained, crossing his arms. “You walked in on me about to come in my trousers; I think it only fair I get to hear about you and Weaselbee.”

Harry coughed into his hand. “Overshare,” he said between coughs. 

“Oh, get a grip, Potter. I tease, but she isn’t stupid. She’s known we were heading this direction for days.”

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise. She shrugged, dropping her bag by her chair and pulling off her teaching robes, dropping them onto the ottoman. She was wearing tailored dark blue trousers and a white blouse, and she collapsed back into her chair, kicking off her pumps. 

“I don’t think I knew we were headed… well, to being caught frotting on your couch.”

Hermione gave him a flat look. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you keeping your clothes on. And I love you, Harry, but I do not need to see your hairy arse.”

“Hey.” He threw one of her small pillows at her. She caught it easily, reminding him of the marshmallow, then gave him a cheeky grin.

Draco nudged him with his foot, and Harry looked over at him. “Hairy arse, hmm?” he mused, sounding intrigued. 

Harry huffed. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not a yeti. And you are a freak.”

Draco looked mildly insulted, until Hermione giggled brightly. 

TBC


	19. Teddy and the Humping Reindeer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_“Why do I feel like I interrupted something?” Hermione asked._

_Draco rolled his eyes. “There you have it; one of the finest minds of her generation.”_

_Harry uncovered his face, pushing back his hair. “Hermione,” Harry said, turning to look up at his friend, who was watching him with amusement. “Do you remember that time Molly and Arthur were out of town, I think they’d gone to take care of Aunt Mildred, and …”_

_“You don’t need to finish that story,” she held up her hands, her face flushing pink. “I remember.”_

_“Well, I don’t know the story,” Draco complained, crossing his arms. “You walked in on me about to come in my trousers; I think it only fair I get to hear about you and Weaselbee.”_

_Harry coughed into his hand. “Overshare,” he said between coughs._

_“Oh, get a grip, Potter. I tease, but she isn’t stupid. She’s known we were heading this direction for days.”_

_Harry looked at Hermione in surprise. She shrugged, dropping her bag by her chair and pulling off her teaching robes, dropping them onto the ottoman. She was wearing tailored dark blue trousers and a white blouse, and she collapsed back into her chair, kicking off her pumps._

_“I don’t think I knew we were headed… well, to being caught frotting on your couch.”_

_Hermione gave him a flat look. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you keeping your clothes on. And I love you, Harry, but I do not need to see your hairy arse.”_

_“Hey.” He threw one of her small pillows at her. She caught it easily, reminding him of the marshmallow, then gave him a cheeky grin._

_Draco nudged him with his foot, and Harry looked over at him. “Hairy arse, hmm?” he mused, sounding intrigued._

_Harry huffed. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not a yeti. And you are a freak.”_

_Draco looked mildly insulted, until Hermione giggled brightly._

Hermione invited Draco to stay for dinner, but once the teasing and giggling settled embarrassment crept in and he politely excused himself. 

“You are going down to feed the baby?” he asked as Harry walked him to the door. Harry had thrust his hands into his pockets, more to keep himself from touching Draco than anything else. And oh, how he wanted to touch again. It was all he could do not to ask Draco to invite him back to his quarters, but Teddy was coming to dinner, and – he still wished he could think of a way around it. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I told Hagrid I’d be down about seven.”

“Shall I meet you here, or at the front doors to the castle?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Well, that depends. By then, Hermione will have told Ron she walked in on us just this side of stripping off and fucking on her couch. So, if you want to deal with that, come here. If not…”

Draco shuddered. “See you at the castle doors.”

“Chicken!” Hermione shouted from somewhere in the flat.

“Ears like a bat, that one,” Harry muttered. 

“I never claimed to be anything other than completely self-serving,” Draco called back. He paused, his eyes moving over Harry’s face. “Seven, then?”

“Quarter to.” Harry hesitated, then snatched his hand from his pocket, fisting his fingers in the front of Draco’s coat, pulling him in close. He pressed his lips to Draco’s ear, breathing softly against the pink shell. “You make me feel insane,” he whispered, and Draco shuddered. 

“You make me feel the same.” One of his hands lifted, and his sank his fingers into Harry’s hair, curling it around his fist. “And yes,” he said right against Harry’s face, “I am a freak.” He bit Harry’s chin, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough to make Harry hard all over again. Harry growled, then took his mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. By the time he released Draco so he could step back, his light eyes looked glazed. “All right. I’ll just… go now. See you at – whatever time that was.”

Harry grinned. “Six-forty-five. See you then.” 

He opened the door so Draco could slip out, then leaned against it for a long moment, willing his erection down and his heart rate to return to normal. Finally, he pushed off the door and walked back into the sitting room, only to find Hermione in her chair with her long legs crossed, holding a glass of red wine in her hand. She held it up.

“Can I get you a glass?”

Harry shook his head, dropping down once again onto the couch, feeling like the air was being let out of him. “If I start that now, I won’t be able to make the walk down to the forest to feed the Thestral later.”

She gave him a slow, lazy grin. “And then make out with Draco after.”

Harry shrugged. “If I said otherwise, I’d be lying. I can’t remember the last time I wanted in someone’s trousers this much.”

She nodded. “He is hot. Half the seventh-year girls, and some of the boys, would drop their panties in a moment if he gave them half a chance.”

Harry glowered. “There’s a disturbing thought,” he said darkly. 

“Why? They’re mostly adults by then. It’s seventeen in the wizarding world, you’ll remember.”

“I doubt their parents would endorse the idea of them being – with a professor, regardless.”

“And seventeen-year-olds are so good at listening to their parents.”

Harry frowned at her, realization finally dawning. “You’re trying to wind me up, aren’t you?”

Her casual expression resolved into a smile. “Is it working?”

“You know it is, damn you.”

She shrugged with studied indifference. “So, have you any idea what you’re doing with him?”

“I do not,” he admitted, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I just know that he’s always made me crazy. It’s just – in a different way, now.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s so very different,” she said lightly. “You certainly weren’t going to snog him in sixth year. Although…” She pretended to think about it, and he rolled his eyes. “Think of the scandal _that_ would have been. Almost as good as one of those fresh young seventh years, luring him behind a mulberry bush.”

Harry felt a completely irrational flare of jealousy. “You can stop now, Professor. Besides, as Deputy Head Mistress you’d get to deal with the fall out. Imagine how fun that would be.” She shuddered theatrically. “How did your exam go?”

“Well, clearly not as well as your time on the couch, but – there were only a few expressions of abject terror as they read the first few questions.”

“You’re completely heartless, you know, doing that to them right before break.”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The ones who need it for their NEWT’s will be fine. The others I don’t worry about so much.” She set her wine on a side table, turning her attention back to Harry. “So,” her gaze was unblinking, “care to share?”

Harry reached up and twisted his hair into a messy bun, something he did when he was deflecting. Or so Hermione told him. “I dare say you saw enough.” 

She snorted, then studied him mildly. “You know I went back out and jangled the keys loudly so he’d think that was when I came in. You both seemed rather – caught up in the moment and having a gay old time.” 

Harry groaned. “Hermione, that was ghastly. You can do better.”

“Fine. Your technique appears to have improved since Cho.”

“Thank Christ for small miracles.” Harry smiled when she giggled. 

There was a knock on the front door, and Harry glanced up at the wall clock. It was nearly five. 

“That will be Teddy,” Hermione said. Harry stood and made his way to the apartment door, leaning on the wall slightly when a wave of dizziness made his head spin. Telling himself he needed a good night’s sleep, he was relieved when it had passed before he opened the door to admit a smiling Teddy.

“Harry.” 

He stepped into Harry’s hug, then followed him into the sitting room. Hermione toasted him with her glass, went still, then began to laugh.

“Oh, I should write you up for that jumper, Ted Lupin. Especially wearing it into my home, you rotten brat.”

Harry looked more closely at the bright red jumper Ted was wearing and felt his face heat.

“Charming,” he muttered. “I’ll wager your grandmother doesn’t even know you own that.”

“Oh, she knows.” He grinned at Harry, completely untroubled. “I told her I bought it to take the piss out of you, and she laughed.”

Harry should have anticipated that; she was Narcissa Malfoy’s sister, after all, and he had no trouble imagining Narcissa doing the same to wind Draco up, not after the way she’d teased him the other day. He looked at the jumper again, and the knitted depiction of copulating reindeer. 

“You know,” he said wryly, “straight deer mate the same way. And I don’t know if there even are any gay reindeer.”

“Oh, of course there are.” Teddy’s smile spread. “They work for Santa, the jolly old queer.”

“Hey, there’s a Mrs Claus,” Harry said in faux outrage. 

Teddy coughed. “Beard,” he said in the midst of another cough. “Besides, in regards to the animal kingdom; didn’t I hear somewhere that reindeer are just gay moose?”

“Oh, God,” Hermione said, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t discuss your theories about Santa or reindeer around my children, please. I have enough to explain to grandma every time they go to the Burrow as it is.”

Teddy laughed. “I’ll bet Rosie could teach me a thing or two.”

“Teddy,” Hermione protested, “she’s _four_.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean now, Hermione,” he said, all earnestness. “I was thinking more when she was Hogwarts age. You know, it’ll be here before you know it.” He winked at her, and she scowled at him. 

“You wretch. Did I invite you to dinner? Get out.”

Teddy laughed, stacking his hands behind his head.

It was later, when they setting the table and the kids were running around the flat from a pursuing Ted, squealing, when Hermione caught Harry’s arm.

“Oh, I was so distracted earlier I completely forgot,” she said, handing him a stack of plates. “You know, I know I remember reading somewhere about something that affected the animals at Hogwarts every decade or so.” Harry’s heart began to pound. “I can’t recall where yet,” she went on, “but I will. It’s driving me spare, not remembering _where_. This is very unlike me.”

“I hope you remember soon, Hermione. I’m not sure how much longer the baby has.”

She rubbed his arm gently. “I’ll go back through the logs tomorrow,” she said reassuringly. “We’ll find it.”

Then Ron arrived home from the Ministry, and chaos reigned. 

_hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm_

The tiny baby was shuddering when they got there, and it took Harry an hour, massaging her rigid muscles, before she relaxed enough for him to feed her. Now, four of the adults were symptomatic, including her mother, and another unicorn had wandered, dazed and glassy eyed, into the Thestral’s clearing. 

Draco studied them, walking carefully from animal to animal. After a few minutes, he came back to Harry, his expression thoughtful. 

“Potter.”

Harry was cleaning his hands in a bucket of ice water, using a pic to get under his nails. He was so tired. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember how we discussed that this might be curse related?”

Harry nodded, forcing himself to pay attention. It was difficult. 

“Yeah, I remember.”

Draco looked at the sick animals, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Harry stood, accepting a clean rag from Hagrid and scrubbing at his hands. The little Thestral had fallen almost instantly asleep, but she was breathing easily. It wasn’t much, but he’d grip and hold onto anything reassuring.

“I’m beginning to wonder if this isn’t something organic.”

Harry looked quickly to Draco. “What makes you think that?”

“Can we discuss it when we get back to Ron and Hermione’s?” Draco said looking over his shoulder. Hagrid was staring down at the baby, looking stricken. Harry nodded.

“Good idea.” He exchanged a few reassuring words with his old friend, patting him on his massive shoulder. They made the walk up to the castle, the bitter cold causing them to pull scarves up over mouths and noses, the wind hitting them as they stepped out into the open, far too cold for conversation. Harry felt a bit light-headed, but he pushed forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots. Horse drawn carriages shot past them down a haphazardly cut pathway, full of laughing, singing, shrieking kids, on their way to the train depot. No doubt the Hogwarts express already sat at the ready, just waiting for them to load before heading back to London. Harry remembered those carriage rides with fondness and a touch of nostalgia. 

When they walked into the cavernous castle entry-way, Harry yanked down his scarf and took a deep breath, swaying a bit.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, catching his arm and holding on tight. There were a few students milling about, and Harry tried to free his arm. Draco wouldn’t let go.

“I’m dizzy,” Harry answered quietly. “I think it was walking uphill all the way back with my mouth and nose covered.”

“After walking two hundred yards?” Draco moved his hand to beneath Harry’s elbow. “You’re in better shape than that, Potter. Come on, you’re over tired and you need sleep. I know Hermione has dreamless sleep in her bath.”

Harry looked over at him but the floor tilted and he had to close his eyes. “How…do you know that?”

“I brewed it for her.” 

Another debilitating wave of dizziness swept over him, and Harry bent, bracing his hands on his knees. 

“For fuck’s sakes, Potter. What’s wrong with you?”

The knees Harry was gripping abruptly buckled and he ended up on his arse on the bottom step, leaning forward and putting his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure exactly what happened next, but he heard Draco calling to someone, and then what felt like seconds later, he felt a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Harry?”

He opened his eyes and looked into Hermione’s, Ron standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“You all right there, Mate?” he asked.

“Clearly not,” Draco said crossly. “He’s done nothing but run since he got here, and it’s catching up with him.”

“You look flushed.” Hermione touched his cheek, then laid the back of her hand on his forehead, frowning. “No fever,” she murmured. “Ron, can you and Draco help him to the flat?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Harry said, pushing to his feet. “I’m fi…” 

It was the last thing he was aware of.

TBC


	20. Great Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seventy-five years ago today a shell shocked twenty-one year old Army veteran just back from Europe and his eighteen-year-old fiancé stood in her minister’s living room and got married. She wore a pink suit and a gardenia corsage, and he wore a brand spanking new suit just off the rack. Their best friends stood up with them, and they went out to dinner, which was all the honeymoon they could afford. They started a remarkable life that night, and I am blessed to have been one of their four children. I miss them every day, and I regret that their great-grandchildren will only know them through me. Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. I hope wherever you are, Mom, you’ve finally realized that Daddy never cared about _how_ you danced. All that mattered was you were doing it in his arms.

Prompt for this part:

_“Are you all right?” Draco asked, catching his arm and holding on tight. There were a few students milling about, and Harry tried to free his arm. Draco wouldn’t let go._

_“I’m dizzy,” Harry answered quietly. “I think it was walking uphill all the way back with my mouth and nose covered.”_

_“After walking two hundred yards?” Draco moved his hand to beneath Harry’s elbow. “You’re in better shape than that, Potter. Come on, you’re over tired and you need sleep. I know Hermione has dreamless sleep in her bath.”_

_Harry looked over at him but the floor tilted and he had to close his eyes. “How…do you know that?”_

_“I brewed it for her.”_

_Another debilitating wave of dizziness swept over him, and Harry bent, bracing his hands on his knees._

_“For fuck’s sakes, Potter. What’s wrong with you?”_

_The knees Harry was gripping abruptly buckled and he ended up on his arse on the bottom step, leaning forward and putting his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure exactly what happened next, but he heard Draco calling to someone, and then what felt like seconds later, he felt a gentle hand on his arm._

_“Harry?”_

_He opened his eyes and looked into Hermione’s, Ron standing behind her, peering over her shoulder._

_“You all right there, Mate?” he asked._

_“Clearly not,” Draco said crossly. “He’s done nothing but run since he got here, and it’s catching up with him.”_

_“You look flushed.” Hermione touched his cheek, then laid the back of her hand on his forehead, frowning. “No fever,” she murmured. “Ron, can you and Draco help him to the flat?”_

_“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Harry said, pushing to his feet. “I’m fi…”_

_It was the last thing he was aware of._

“He’s fucking exhausted, I’m telling you.” Draco’s voice sounded far away, but Harry could hear the distress in it.

“Easy, Malfoy,” Ron said, sounding as if he was trying to talk Draco down. “Harry’ll be fine. He always is. Just take a deep breath.”

There was a pause. “Talk to me like I’m a hysterical granny again, Weasley, and I’ll send a rabid squirrel up your arse.”

There was a squeak, one Harry recognized. It was amazing it hadn’t changed much since Ron was eleven. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

Harry was quite certain the quiet laughter in the background was Hermione.

“He’s coming ‘round,” another voice said. “Harry?”

It was very weird to have to force his eyes open. His lids felt like there were weights attached, and he grunted in frustration.

“It’s okay,” a warm female voice said. “Take your time.”

Finally, he was able to blink, even though he grimaced at a bright light directly in front of his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry,” the same calm voice said. “ _Nox_.” The light went out, and Harry’s eyes rolled but finally opened. He was in Ron and Hermione’s apartment, lying on the same sofa he’d molested Draco on that afternoon. He grimaced and moaned. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. Padma Patil was sitting beside him, her pale shiny green robes reflecting the fairy lights on the Christmas tree. For some reason the thought he’d never seen Pomfrey in green robes drifted through a mind that didn’t seem to be working particularly well. He rubbed his forehead.

“Are you in pain?” Padma asked. She was sitting on the ottoman, studying him calmly. 

“No,” Harry said. “Not really. I just feel – weird.” He searched the anxious faces around him, finally finding the one he sought. He tried to give Draco a smile, but he doubted he succeeded. 

“Weird, how?” Padma asked. Harry pulled his attention back to her, trying to put his finger on what was, in fact, weird. 

“Uhm, right now I just feel off – weak, I guess? Earlier I got really dizzy before I…”

“Fainted?” Ron offered. 

“Thanks, Ron,” he grumbled. “That makes me sound like a damsel in distress.”

“Not a damsel,” Draco offered. “I happen to know that for a fact.” He grinned at Harry, and Harry knew the grin he shot back was a better effort. 

“Oy,” Ron said, grimacing. “Right up there on the list of things I don’t need to know, Malfoy.”

“Focus, gentlemen,” Padma admonished softly. “You did faint, Harry. Let’s not make an effort to call it anything but what it was. Was dizziness your only indication?”

“He was short of breath, too,” Draco provided. 

“It sounds like what used to happen when the Dementors got too close.” Hermione’s concerned face cleared and brightened. “Oh!” She turned and bustled out of the room. 

“What was that?” Draco asked Ron, who shrugged.

“Not a clue, Mate. I’ll find out when you do.”

Moments later Hermione bustled back in holding a small plate, on which was a thick slice of the beautiful Bûche De Noël she’d served for dessert. It hadn’t looked remotely appetizing two hours before, but now the sight and scent of it made his mouth water. He managed to push up into a sitting position and held out his hand, ignoring that it was trembling. Hermione handed it to him, and the first, huge bite he took literally melted on his tongue and he moaned in pleasure. 

“Points against him,” Draco said dryly, “trying to eat half of his desert in one bite.”

“Oy, shut it,” Harry said around a mouthful of sinfully delicious sponge and thick, rich cream.

“And he talks with his mouth full,” Draco went on. “So, we won’t be dining with Mother.”

“So, Harry,” Ron said weakly. “You really did have Malfoy pinned to my couch this afternoon? Cuz, you know, you’ve got to clean up after stuff like that.”

Padma’s eyes shone. “Oh, really?” she said. “There’s some good dirt. Think the _Prophet_ would pay me for it?” She grinned at Harry’s horrified expression. “I do still owe you for that horrible Yule Ball, after all.”

Draco laughed. “Merlin, that’s right. I totally forgot about that!”

“And if you ever want to finish what we started this afternoon, you’ll put it right back in the ‘things I need never mention’ file,” Harry warned. Draco didn’t look deterred a bit. “So,” Harry said after another big bite of cake, “speaking of press I don’t want, how many students were standing around the entry when you levitated me up the stairs?”

“Not many,” Hermione said, prevaricating and Harry knew it. He gave her a sardonic look. “And they’ve all been told I know who they are,” she assured him, “and if anything about it turned up in the papers, they’d be on detention until the end of time.”

“Think it’ll work?” he asked, polishing off the desert and feeling much better. 

“Oh, it’ll work,” Ron assured him. “They’re all dead terrified of her.” 

Hermione started to say something, then stopped, her mouth slightly open as she stared into space. “Oh, my God. I’ve been so utterly stupid.”

She turned and ran out of the room, and Ron and Harry exchanged knowing looks. 

“What was that?” Draco stared after her. 

“That,” Harry answered, leaning over to put his plate on the floor, “was Hermione, on a mission.”

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

“I can’t believe this slipped my mind,” Hermione was saying for the sixth, or possibly seventh time.

Padma grinned at her as she prepared to leave. 

“Hermione, you can’t hold the entirety of wizarding history in your head.” She patted Hermione’s arm as she passed. 

“Padma,” Harry said, looking at her over the back of the sofa. “I’m serious about the papers. Please.”

She shook out her sheet of long hair. “As if I would. Harry Potter, you know me better than that. It was just entertaining to aggravate you. Actually, I always thought you and Draco would make a nice couple. If you didn’t kill one another.” She winked as she departed. 

They were now all seated around the dining room table, books and logs spread out around them. Ron was making his way through the plate of gingerbread cookies and Harry had made another pot of coffee and was eating another huge slice of cake. 

“I’m going to have to start working out,” he said, licking the tines of his fork. It entertained him to see Draco hungrily following the movement of his tongue. “I run on the island, but -- I don’t think I can do that with the snow.”

“Oh, shut it,” Draco said with an eyeroll. “Your body is – “He stopped abruptly, suddenly engrossed in the log in front of him. 

“Yes?” Hermione prodded. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Just – he has a nice build and he knows it.” He wouldn’t look up, and Hermione smirked at Harry, then glowered at Ron, who was devouring the gingerbread boy cookies from the plate on the table. 

“I’m not baking more of those, Ronald,” Hermione said pointedly. Ron looked at the cookie in his hand for a moment, then shrugged.

“I’ll just ask Mum for some more.”

The look he got in return would have leveled trees, and Draco tutted.

“And the man never gets laid, ever again,” he murmured, and Harry snorted. 

“Oh, I will,” Ron said with supreme confidence. “She can’t resist me.”

Harry glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Nice try, Mate. I happen to know she ‘resisted’ for nearly four years. I’m sure that self-control is still in there somewhere.”

“The freckles would have done it for me,” Draco muttered. Ron gave him a dark look. 

“Ron, perhaps you should go check on the children,” Hermione said. When he started to protest, she narrowed her eyes. “Seriously.”

He shoved back his chair. “Fine. You’ll just have to repeat what you found later.”

“Oh, she can do that,” Draco drawled.

“And you put a sock in it,” Hermione snapped. “Or I won’t tell you, either.”

Draco held up both hands after pushing away the log he’d been studying. 

Ron slouched off down the long hall that led to the kid’s bedrooms, and Hermione picked up a thick volume from the seat beside her, dropping it onto the table top. Harry stared at the book for several long seconds.

“You aren’t serious,” he said. 

“I told you that you should read it.”

She flipped open the book, searching the table of contents.

Draco frowned at Harry. “What am I missing?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Only that she’s been trying to get me to read the damned book since I was eleven.”

“ _Hogwarts, a History_?” Draco frowned. “It was Binns’ text book.”

“I know,” Harry said with a self-effacing smile. “And the number of times she’s used it to bail my arse out, I could have read it ten times over. And should have. So, what does it say?”

She gave him a smile that clearly said he was forgiven. She marked a passage, then turned the book so he could read the paragraph. 

“After the great war between the centaurs and the giants in 1597, the Dementors of Siberia – ” Harry read aloud.

“Siberia?” Draco said, leaning against Harry’s arm. “I don’t remember that.”

“But it’s a _text book_ , Draco,” Harry teased. Draco stared, eyes wide, and Harry realized it was the first time he’d used his first name. He went hurriedly back to the book. “Uhm…right. The Dementors of Siberia, having fought on the losing side, and in a fit of pique…”

“Pique?” Draco said, leaning closer. 

Harry pointed. “Right there. Pique.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said sternly, “if you do not behave yourself, I’m going to give you detention with the first years.”

“I’m stopping now.”

Harry, who had kept reading, gasped and looked up at Hermione. “This is it,” he said. “Hermione, you are brilliant!”

“I have my moments.”

She smiled.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used for this part: 
> 
> Sorry for the "delete/repost" there were technical issues in the chapter that have now been corrected. It does not affect the chapter if you've already read it. ♥

“ _Hogwarts, a History_?” Draco frowned. “It was Binns’ text book.”

“I know,” Harry said with a self-effacing smile. “And the number of times she’s used it to bail my arse out, I could have read it ten times over. And should have. So, what does it say?”

She gave him a smile that clearly said he was forgiven. She marked a passage, then turned the book so he could read the paragraph. 

“After the great war between the centaurs and the giants in 1597, the Dementors of Siberia – “ Harry read aloud.

“Siberia?” Draco said, leaning against Harry’s arm. “I don’t remember that.”

“But it’s a _text book_ , Draco,” Harry teased. Draco stared, eyes wide, and Harry realized it was the first time he’d used his first name. He went hurriedly back to the book. “Uhm…right. The Dementors of Siberia, having fought on the losing side, and in a fit of pique…”

“Pique?” Draco said, leaning closer. 

Harry pointed. “Right there. Pique.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said sternly, “if you do not behave yourself, I’m going to give you detention with the first years.”

“I’m stopping now.”

Harry, who had kept reading, gasped and looked up at Hermione. “This is it,” he said. “Hermione, you are brilliant!”

“I have my moments.”

She smiled.

The paragraph about the Dementors was illuminating. 

“The Dementors of Siberia, having fought on the losing side, and in a fit of pique, cursed Hogwarts as they were leaving.”

“It was a curse,” Draco said softly. 

“It was,” Harry agreed as he read on. “Being not very skilled at curses, or terribly bright in the bargain, the curse affected only the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry shook his head. “It still doesn’t explain why every ten years.”

“Keep reading,” Hermione prompted. 

Harry sighed but went on. “The curse was, and remains, a glaring example of badly performed magic. It’s unstable, and seems to activate perhaps once in a generation, temporarily poisoning undergrowth and ground water. It does not affect humans unless there is blood borne transmission, and it is only fatal to animal life whose home is the Forest. Hogwarts and Hogsmeade’s water source is not the Black Lake but an underground aquafer, therefore the curse failed and is considered a footnote in Hogwarts history.” Harry snorted softly. 

Silence settled over the table. 

“You know,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I don’t think Binns ever assigned any work about this curse.”

“I doubt he considered it important enough.”

“So, why did it affect you?” Draco said, looking at Harry.

Harry looked down at his hands and noticed the scratch on the inside of his right index finger. He studied it. 

“I was feeding the baby, a scratched myself on one of her teeth.” He held it out. “Blood borne transmission.”

“I find it hard to believe that students or… someone else hasn’t been affected by that curse over the years.”

“It would probably appear as the flu,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “We can ask Padma to check her records.”

“First, we need to tell Hagrid,” Harry said, getting to his feet, relieved when there was no wave of dizziness.

“Tell him to start pulling water from the castle. We know the Thestrals aren’t eating the underbrush, and the centaurs aren’t, but the unicorns are. Maybe he can move the herd?”

“I think right now we’d have to move all of them.” He looked at Draco. “You coming?”

“Absolutely, yes,” he said. 

They grabbed coats and scarves and gloves, and Harry started toward the door, then turned back. “Hermione – “

She had taken the book back and was pouring over the pages. She looked up at him expectantly.

“Thank you, again. You always do this; bail me out when I don’t know what I’m doing.” He went back and engulfed her in a hug. “What would I do without you?”

She stepped back and shrugged. “Be a miserable mess?”

He laughed. “Truer words. I’ll be back in a while.”

Hermione smiled. “Go do your saviour thing.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be back.”

She smirked. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured under her breath. “If you don’t, I won’t worry about where you are.”

His face heated, and she laughed, shooing him toward the door.

As they left, Harry heard Ron behind him. “Where are they going?”

“To see Hagrid.” 

Harry shut the door, and they hurried down the long hallway.

“So, the curse isn’t what’s affecting the Room of Requirement,” Draco said thoughtfully. Harry looked over at him; he hadn’t even thought of that.

“Apparently not,” Harry answered. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what you saw?” Draco asked softly. Harry looked over at him, his heart beginning to pound. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“Why?” Draco studied his face. “Was it – bad?”

Harry looked down so he didn’t trip on anything on the path. “No,” he said softly. “It was actually… pretty wonderful. It just wasn’t – real.”

“Ah.” Draco stared out over the expansive Hogwarts lawn, covered with round, brightly coloured lit globes, his face pensive. “And you want it to be,” he murmured. Harry nodded.

“Very much,” he agreed. “Very, very much.”

“All right,” Draco said. “I think I can understand that.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at one another for several long seconds, finally turning back to the path, the silence awkward. Suddenly more than anything, Harry wanted to offer to take Draco to the Room of Requirement, just to see if the vision would return. 

__

_hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm_

Having a clue what they were dealing with was a huge relief, knowing how to go about fixing it was another thing all together. How did you stop a wild animal from going to their usual source of water?

Draco was the one who came up with the answer. 

“Let’s set up a food source for the Thestrals and unicorns outside of the forest, then use a spell to keep them from wandering back in.”

“And water?” Hagrid asked.

“Troughs,” Harry said, picking up on Draco’s idea. “We can use Aguementi to fill them, right by the food. We can add trees – “

“I can do that,” Draco said with growing enthusiasm. “I’m good with dendrology spells.”

“Pomona would be thrilled,” Hagrid teased. 

“We’ll need to clear away the snow from the ground,” Harry said, “Make sure it isn’t too wet.”

“I’ll go tell Firenze about the water.”

“He’s still here,” Harry said faint smile. “I thought he might have gone… somewhere else.”

“No. He’s actually head of the herd now,” Draco said. “And still ridiculously beautiful.”

“I had such a stupid crush on him when I was twelve,” Harry admitted, the first time he’d ever said it aloud.”

“Get in line,” Draco laughed. “If he hadn’t been half horse, half the boys in our year would have grabbed their ankles.”

Harry sputtered. “Oh, my God. So what are you saying, Draco Malfoy?”

He got a wicked twinkle in his gray eyes. “Well, you know the old saying ‘hung like a horse’?”

“How would you even know that?” Harry laughed.

“I happened to see him… following the call of nature once.” He shuddered. “It was terrifying. I nearly swore off of men forever.”

Harry chuckled. “Must’ve been life-altering.”

“Not in the long run, obviously,” Draco gave him a sideways look. “But for a few months, there. Okay,” he rubbed his hands together, clearly changing the subject. “Let’s charm some trees into place, shall we?”

Harry held up his hands. “I’m just watching.”

“Oh, your job is going to be convincing the animals to move. I’m just planting some trees.”

He did; dozens of them. Perfect, pristine trees, basically adding an additional two acres to the edge of the forest. Harry went along behind him, his wand in his hand, clearing away snow and drying the ground. When the time came for Harry and Hagrid to move the animals, Harry watched Draco gently lift the weak baby Thestral into his arms, holding the shuddering little creature close against his obviously expensive overcoat, speaking to her softly. Watching him, Harry’s heart ached in the best possible way, and he made a quick decision. 

The animals adjusted much better than Harry could have hoped, the Thestrals following him easily into the newly made clearing, the unicorns behind them a few hundred feet away. They siphoned off all of the puddles of water in the old clearings that might have held poison, and stood around with Hagrid, watching the Abraxans drink from their new troughs, and the adult Thestrals take off and land in the new clearing with no problem. It was nearly one in the morning when they took their leave of Hagrid.

Harry watched the baby sleeping peacefully for several minutes.

“She’s doing better,” he said. “Still, if you need me during the night, don’t hesitate to come get me.”

Hagrid gave him a sly grin. “And would that be and Ron and Hermione’s, or…” He gave Harry a brisk shoulder check that nearly dopped him to the ground.

“Shut it, you enormous arse,” Harry grumbled, and Hagrid’s booming laugh carried out over the lawns. Draco looked over from where he stood in the midst of the herd of Thestrals, one brow raised in question.

“He’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is,” Harry answered the unspoken questioned. This made Hagrid laugh even harder.

They were half way back to the castle when Draco nudged him. “So what did Hagrid say?”

Harry exhaled, a cloud of steam lifting around his head. “I told him to get me if he needed me in the night, and he wanted to know if I’d be with Ron and Hermione, or with – “

There was a pause. “Me,” Draco provided.

“You.”

Draco did that thing where he linked his hands at his lower back, all military school correct, and Harry swallowed a smile. 

“My, my. Word travels fast.”

“I can’t imagine things around here have changed all that much since I left.”

“Not so you would notice, no.”

The opened the massive oak doors. They swung without a squeak, and Harry glanced at the images as he walked through. “I’m still tempted to blow these bloody things to pieces.”

Draco grinned, his teeth flashing in the low torchlight. “What, and deprive your fans…”

“I will hex your mouth shut,” Harry grumbled. Draco gave him a filthy grin. 

“Now, where is the fun in that?”

Harry shook his head. They walked in silence for several seconds. Finally, Harry took a deep breath. 

“If I asked you to go somewhere with me, would you?”

Draco frowned. “Now there’s a leading question.” He paused. “Yes, I suppose I would. Colour me shocked.”

Harry stopped in the middle of the staircase, and Draco stopped beside him. 

“Even if it was the Room of Requirement?”

Harry watched the colour drain from Draco’s face, and almost regretted it. Almost. 

“I suppose,” Draco said, “I’d have to assume you have a very good reason.”

“I do. And I swear, if it isn’t what I think it will be, we’ll leave. And I’ll never let go of your hand.” He reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, linking their fingers.

“You know, you’re freaking me out a bit here, Potter. But now I’ll never sleep tonight for curiosity if I don’t go with you. I won’t lie,” he studied Harry’s face, “I don’t like the idea particularly.”

“I know.”

The stared at each other. 

“All right,” Draco said. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it.”

They crossed the distance between the entrance hall and the seventh-floor corridor quickly enough that they were both a little short of breath when they got there. 

Harry paused, trying to get his breathing under control. “Do you want to try to open it, or…”

“No, Potter.” Draco sounded irritated. “I want to know what you saw, not what I’d see.”

“I think you’ll find they might be the same.”

“What?”

“Okay, just…” Harry exhaled and pulling Draco by the hand, walked to the tapestry of the pointe shoe wearing trolls, stopped, and closed his eyes. He waited for his heart rate to return to normal, then in his head repeated the words, “I need to see what I’m missing.” He walked back and forth three times, unsurprised when he heard the door begin to crack and pop into being. He took hold of Draco’s hand and looked into his eyes. 

“You’re sure about this?”

Draco stared at the door. “No. Now open the damned thing.”

Harry did, then entered the room, pulling Draco in behind him. 

Relief made him almost ill; it was the same room as before, same large leather sofas, same bright and inexpertly decorated Christmas tree, same large telly hanging on the wall. There was a Christmas movie playing, some silly thing with a Claymation Santa Claus, and Harry saw the back of his own head. It was every bit as weird as the first time. He was wearing a cranberry red cable knit jumper and his hair was mostly up, some long curls hanging down his back. It was longer than it was now, he noticed. The Harry sitting on the floor was untangling Muggle Christmas lights.

“What is this,” Draco muttered. 

“Just watch,” Harry answered. 

“Harry?”

Draco froze at the sound of his own voice, and his hand went cold in Harry’s grip. He rubbed his thumb over Draco knuckles, trying to reassure.

“Sitting room,” Harry called back. 

Draco came through the door that led through to a visible kitchen and dining room. Draco gasped on sight of himself, his grip turning fierce when he saw the other Draco was wearing dark gray wool slacks and a black jumper with a suspicious, unsightly blotch on one shoulder. He was also holding a baby that couldn’t be more than six months old. The little girl, quite obviously in the little tartan plaid Christmas dress she wore with frilly white socks and tiny black patent leather MaryJane's. She also had a red satin ribbon on a clip holding back several white blonde curls. 

“Can you take her, please. I’m going to have to change.”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Whoops.”

“Succinct,” Draco said ironically. “Why are you trying to untangle that mess? Aren’t fairy lights good enough for you?”

“Arthur asked me to.”

“Is he trying to blow up all of the transformers in Ottery St Catchpole again?”

“If he manages, Molly will hex him.” 

Draco handed off the baby, who smiled at Harry. 

“Daaa,” she said, patting him on the face. 

“Hello, darling,” Harry said, smiling. “How’s Daddy’s girl.”

“Full of vomit, apparently.”

“Not my girl,” Harry said, pretending to bite delicate little fingers. “Never my girl.”

“Well, that one must be mine, then.” Draco crossed his arms and pulled the jumper off over his head. “Where is my hunter green cashmere.”

“I picked it up from the cleaners,” Harry said, rubbing noses with the baby. “It’s hanging in our closet.”

“Oh, thank you. Where are the twins?”

“With Ron and Hermione, playing with Hugo and Rose. And before you start, she already promised to clean them stem to stern if they got mussed.”

“Good,” Draco called. He came back into the room, pulling a beautiful cashmere sweater over his head, stopped at a wall mirror to fluff his hair. “We need to leave here shortly. You know how mother feels about us being late.”

“One would thing that part of the reason we’re late being her grandchildren would cut us some slack.”

“Oh, no,” Draco tucked in the jumper, looked at the result, then pulled it out again, settling it on his narrow hips. “It will always be our fault, never her precious babies.”

“Well, surely not this one,” Harry leaned forward to blow on the baby girl's tummy, and she curled her fingers in the few long curls falling past his shoulders. “Oh, oh, ouch. Draco, help…”

Draco walked to him, carefully disentangling little fingers from the black curls. “Let go, sweetheart. Come on. We like Daddy’s hair where it is.”

She squealed, and Harry’s laughed. “Oh look, she screams when she got her hands in my hair, too.”

Draco aimed a soft kick at Harry’s arse. “Shut it, you. We need to get the boys and go.”

“Okay, I just need to run a comb through my hair.”

Draco studied him, his eyes warming. 

“Your hair is fine. Just grab mother’s gift and let’s go.”

“Now, why do we take the gift to her house, again, when she just brings it back to ours Christmas morning?”

"She says her tree looks lonely."

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” Harry picked up a large package.

“It makes no sense at all,” Draco said, steadying the baby on his hip.   
“And careful with that; it’s the completer set for her Spode.”

“That’s why it weighs a ton. Okay,” Harry grabbed two long coats from hooks inside the door, and a small velvet jacket. Again, Harry had to get out of the way, pulling Draco with him. Draco was staring, obviously stunned, as his other self, his daughter and his husband walked out through the door behind them. 

“Do we need to get jackets for the twins?”

“Hermione’s got them,” Harry answered.

“My, my, look who’s all organized today.”

“I know,” Harry said. He slipped his arm around Draco’s waist. “Make you hot?”

“Oh yes, that’s all it takes. Outer wear for your sons.”

“I knew you were easy when I met you.” 

Draco started to speak, but Harry kissed him, silencing him effectively. The baby was patting them both on the cheeks when the odd suction experience from before happened again, and this time they were both pulled out in a rush of strong air. Vision Draco and Harry, and their baby girl, were both gone when the Room of Requirement door slammed and disappeared. 

The sound echoed down the long hall. There was several seconds of awkward silence. 

“Potter,” Draco said finally, voice rough, “What was that?”

“I’m not altogether sure,” he said slowly, trying to gage Draco’s reaction.

“What did you ask the room for?

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“I asked it …. For what I’d been missing.”

“And this – “ Draco stopped, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. 

“Are you all right?” Harry asked. 

“Me?” Draco laughed a bit raggedly. “Are you?”

Harry paused. How to answer that?

TBC


	22. The Veelas of Regent Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_“Do we need to get jackets for the twins?”_

_“Hermione’s got them,” Harry answered._

_“My, my, look whose all organized today.”_

_“I know,” Harry said. He slipped his arm around Draco’s waist. “Make you hot?”_

_“Oh yes, that’s all it takes. Outer wear for your sons.”_

_“I knew you were easy when I met you.”_

_Draco started to speak, but Harry kissed him, silencing him effectively. The baby was patting them both on the cheeks when the odd suction experience from before happened again, and this time they were both pulled out of the room in a rush of strong air. Vision Draco and Harry, and their baby girl, were both gone when the Room of Requirement door slammed and disappeared._

_The sound echoed down the long hall. There was several seconds of awkward silence._

_“Potter,” Draco said finally, voice rough, “What was that?”_

_“I’m not altogether sure,” Harry said slowly, trying to gage Draco’s reaction._

_“What did you ask the room for?”_

_Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes._

_“I asked it …. For what I’d been missing.”_

_“And this – “ Draco stopped, his hand coming up to cover his mouth._

_“Are you all right?” Harry asked._

_“Me?” Draco laughed a bit raggedly. “Are you?”_

_Harry paused. How to answer that?_

“I think – ,” Harry said raggedly, “ – that I’m hopeful.”

Draco swallowed audibly. “Hopeful.” He stared at the wall where the door had been. “Hopeful.” 

He looked utterly stunned, shell-shocked. He rubbed his jaw, and ran his fingers up into his hair, then dropped his hand down to his side. 

“Draco?” Harry said, beginning to be afraid this had been a horrible mistake. 

“I…” Draco took a step back, then another. “Potter, I – have to go. I need air. I need…” He looked back into Harry’s eyes, and Harry realized he’d seen the same expression in the eyes of frightened animals.

“Okay,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady. “Do what you need to.”

Draco laughed, and this time he actually did sound a bit mad. “What I need? What I need. I have no idea what that even means right now.” He rubbed his hands roughly over his face, backing away. “I need – “ His voice choked off. “I have to go.”

He turned and all but ran away, disappearing around a far corner.

Harry stared after him, feeling as if he’d been slugged in the stomach. What had just happened?

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

Later, he wouldn’t remember the walk back to Ron and Hermione’s quarters. He didn’t recall seeing anyone, or talking to anyone. He didn’t remember leaving the school, or the campus, or wandering into Hogsmeade. It was the middle of the night now, and he literally saw no one. He stepped into the Apparition point, arrived in the Ministry and wandered out into London.

His brief walk when he’d arrived was the first time Harry saw London since he’d left Cambridge. Now, he wandered the rain slicked streets with no real destination in mind, just that he had to be away from the school so he didn’t run into Draco. It had been too much, he realized now. Too much, too soon. 

They’d had one groping session on Hermione’s couch, a few shared kisses. Showing the man a vision of them married, with children, had been too much and Draco had freaked out. Just as Harry was sure he would’ve if the situation was reversed. He’d had twenty-four hours to come to grips with the first vision. Draco said he wanted to know what Harry saw, but clearly, he didn’t; not if it was _that_.

He’d been walking for hours when he found himself looking up at the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen; his first thought was ‘Veela’, but he knew that wasn’t right. He’d been here before. One Christmas at the Burrow Arthur had got the group of youngsters out from under Molly’s feet and taken them to see ‘what Muggles could do without magic’. Harry remembered standing next to him, looking up at the angels of Regent Street, being unaccountably proud when Arthur murmured, “Muggles are geniuses.” The slender androgynes figures reminded him of Draco, long and lean and lovely, their wings lighting in a motion almost as if they were flying, their long robes spread out behind them, twinkling like the night sky. They were beautiful, so beautiful they brought tears to his eyes. Of course it was the angels; what else could it possibly be?

The sky was lightning near the horizon line when Harry realized he’d be out wandering around all night. Of course, Hermione would think he’d been at Draco’s. He gasped softly against the ache that caused, dodging early morning traffic, realizing his solo sojourn was over. It was rush hour; time to return to Hogwarts. But first, food. He was starving and kiosks along the river were beginning to open.

He bought a bacon butty instead of his usual sausage roll and a hot chocolate, grateful for the Muggle currency he always kept tucked away in an inside pocket, then sat on the top of a park bench and stared out over the Thames, watching the ferries go back and forth. His breakfast wasn’t as delicious as the one he’d shared with Draco, but it was enough to keep him going. Finishing up his breakfast and tossing away the wrappings and cup, he glanced down at his watch and wondered if any of the offices adjacent to the Ministry would be open. When he got there, there was a line. He should have known, he supposed. Three days before Christmas, the Portkey office would be packed. He kept his head down and stood in line, then was eternally grateful for the old witch behind the counter. She unquestionably recognized him, but she very professionally approved his request. 

When he was done and Apparated back to Hogsmeade, he did some power shopping for Ron, Hermione, Ted and the kids, then walked back up the path to Hogwarts. It was still early but there were kids out playing on the huge, snow covered lawns, shrieking and laughing, and he smiled faintly. The shock and disappointment of the night before had worn off and now he just felt tired, and faintly sad. 

He stopped by the new clearing. It was amazing, really, how fast the young of any species recovered in comparison to the more senior members, and this was the same with the baby Thestral. She was up on her feet, and she greeted him with a happy bleat and bounced up to him as if she’d never been ill at all. Even though his heart was heavy, he was able to find a very real smile for her. 

“Ye’re a miracle worker, that’s all there is to it, Harry.”

Harry turned when Hagrid came up to him, smiling slightly. It was getting easier. 

“I didn’t do it alone, Hagrid. Hermione helped, and you.”

“And Draco,” Hagrid completed for him. Harry was glad he didn’t have to say it. “But mostly, it was you.” The baby hopped up like a baby goat, head butting Harry’s thigh. He laughed. 

“Glad to see you so much better,” he crooned, rubbing her head. She looked up at him, and her huge, liquid black eyes were bright. 

Harry could feel Hagrid’s eyes on him. 

“You all right, lad?” he asked. “Ye’re looking a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine, Hagrid. Honestly. So, how are the Abraxans and the unicorns doing?”

“Ah, everyone is improving, Harry. Ye’ve done miracle work here, ye have.”

Hagrid went on, waxing poetic about the improvement of the animals, and Harry let him.

He moved silently through the castle hallways, nodding to students who wished to acknowledge him, grateful when he didn’t see a tall, svelte blond. He had no idea what to say to Draco, not anymore. Hermione would no doubt counsel him to go talk to him, but Harry just couldn’t. He’d stayed out of relationships for the last three years so he wouldn’t have to see the look on anyone’s face he’d seen on Draco’s. Being with Harry Potter always seemed to be fantastic, until it meant something, he thought bitterly. Immediately he realized he wasn’t being fair; he’d blindsided Draco. Still, the whole thing hurt.

He walked back into Ron and Hermione’s rooms near mid-morning. He was so tired his feet were dragging, and he desperately needed sleep, but he needed to talk to his best friend first. 

“Hermione?” he called. 

“Bedroom,” she called back. 

He found her sitting on the bed folding laundry; she’d told him that was how she planned to spend her day. Arthur, bless him, had the children with him at Auntie Muriel’s; she hollered every question, and the kids thought she was hysterically funny. It was extremely entertaining for Arthur, Molly got freedom to bake without him hanging over her shoulder, and Hermione got to do laundry without any little hands wanting to ‘help’. Ron was on a training assignment with the new recruits, but Kingsley had personally promised he’d be home the morning of the twenty-third. If he wasn’t, Hermione had said, she planned to make the minister very, very sorry.

She sat cross legged on the bed wearing leggings and one of Ron’s huge sweatshirts, her hands moving efficiently on the bright blue onesie she was folding. It had a very happy, smiling firetruck on the front. Without looking up, she smirked. “Have a good time?”

Harry hesitated. “Not so much, no.”

Her eyes jerked up to his face, and her expression crumpled. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

He sat heavily on the end of the bed beside her. “Not a ghost.” He flopped back on the bed, his hands above his head. “Merlin, Hermione. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

She pushed the laundry aside and leaned forward, her hand coming to rest on his upper arm. 

“Talk to me.”

So he did. He told her everything, about the time spent on the animals and the success the new system was. About how he’d taken Draco back to the Room of Requirement. He told her what they’d seen. And then he told her, in excruciating detail, about Draco’s reaction to their joint vision. 

“And now,” Harry finished, rubbing his fingers over his tired eyes, “I’m sorry I ever asked what I was missing. Because now I know, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Harry,” she said, her voice achingly gentle. “He was just startled.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry said. “And it probably wasn’t fair.”

“He asked to see,” she countered. “He wanted to know.”

“He wanted to know what was happening with the Room of Requirement, which is pretty damned brave if you think about it. He wasn’t prepared to see himself married with children. His reaction is completely understandable. It’s not that different than mine was the day before, honestly. I just – realized I liked what I saw. And realized he didn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she said firmly.

“Has he stopped by this morning?” Harry asked, watching her face. She didn’t have to say anything. The way she evaded his eyes said it all. “I think I have a pretty good idea of how he felt about what he saw.”

“Harry,” she implored.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, not sure if he was trying to reassure her, or himself. “We had a good couple of days. We no longer want to kill one another. Expecting anything else after two days really isn’t fair.”

“What are you going to do?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m going to take a nap, and then I’m going to wrap some Christmas presents for some very cute little kids and one obnoxious teenager. I’m going to check on little miss Thestral, who is feeling very full of herself at the moment, by the way,” she gave him a swift smile, “and I’ll go over everything with Hagrid. I’d like to have dinner with you and the kids, then my Portkey activates and I’ll be back on Ginger before midnight.”

“Harry,” she said, obviously disappointed. “You’re going to miss Ron.”

“I know,” he said, genuinely regretting it. He pulled her hand off his arm and held it, linking their fingers. “I won’t wait as long to come back; I promise.” He managed a weak smile. “But I do have patients, Hermione.”

“You won’t stay for Christmas?” 

He shook his head. “No. Molly will be hurt, but I don’t think that can be helped this time.”

“And you won’t talk to him?”

Harry turned his head to look up at the ceiling. “I’ll be here for another twelve hours. He knows where I am, if he wants to talk.”

“You know I love you, but I don’t think you’re being very fair.”

“I know I’m not.” He released her hand and pushed to his feet. “Right now, I’m just too tired to care.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to go and sleep for a while.”

“Okay.”

He felt her eyes all the way down the hall. 

TBC


	23. This Cake Should Come With A Warning Label

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_“What are you going to do?”_

_Harry took a deep breath. “I’m going to take a nap, and then I’m going to wrap some Christmas presents for some very cute little kids and one obnoxious teenager. I’m going to check on little miss Thestral, who is feeling very full of herself at the moment, by the way,” she gave him a small smile, “and I’ll go over everything with Hagrid. I’d like to have dinner with you and the kids, then my Portkey activates and I’ll be back on Ginger before midnight.”_

_“Harry,” she said, obviously disappointed. “You’re going to miss Ron.”_

_“I know,” he said, genuinely regretting it. He pulled her hand off his arm and held it, linking their fingers. “I won’t wait as long to come back; I promise.” He managed a weak smile. “But I do have patients, Hermione.”_

_“You won’t stay for Christmas?”_

_He shook his head. “No. Molly will be hurt, but I don’t think that can be helped this time.”_

_“And you won’t talk to him?”_

_Harry turned his head to look up at the ceiling. “I’ll be here for another twelve hours. He knows where I am, if he wants to talk.”_

_“You know I love you, but I don’t think you’re being very fair.”_

_“I know I’m not.” He released her hand and pushed to his feet. “Right now, I’m just too tired to care.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to go and sleep for a while.”_

_“Okay.”_

_He felt her eyes all the way down the hall._

Hermione cooked spaghetti bolognaise and garlic bread, and they had a truly hilarious hour watching Hugo try to get some of it into his mouth. Teddy came, which made Harry happy. Rose was very put out with him for leaving before Christmas, and he couldn’t even really blame her. The large presents under the tree with her name on them seemed to help a bit. Harry knew Ron was going to be royally hacked off at him, but now that the decision was made to leave, he was itching to go. The sight of Draco, running away from him, played over and over in his head, and he needed to put as much distance between himself and the man as he could. 

He still wanted Draco, almost painfully so. It was all he could do not to go back to the Room of Requirement, just to see more of the little family with their bright-eyed twins and their pretty baby, and a Teddy with chin scruff. Draco made him crazy, and made him hot, and now that he was free to recognize it, he realized he’d probably started giving Harry a hard on about the time he was twelve. It explained a lot of their animus, and Harry’s self-loathing; all he’d heard growing up was that queers were ruining England. Vernon was virulently homophobic; to Harry, it was just another thing that made him a freak. It took more than a few sessions with his mind healer to get past that. And adolescent Harry probably blamed Draco for making him feel that way. 

Adult Harry wanted him with an intense ache that made his arms hurt to his fingers with longing to hold him, and his throat was so tight he could scarcely swallow. It was more than just wanting to fuck him through a mattress, although there was that, too. Because of the visions of himself with a family, and children, he wanted Draco as a partner, not just a lover but a husband. He didn’t just like the snarky bastard; he’d fallen quite hopelessly in love with him. Knowing he wasn’t going to get the family he wanted, that Draco just wasn’t ready for it, made Harry ready to flee the humiliation of being the only one who felt that way, as quickly as he could. 

After dinner Harry and Ted took a walk down to the new clearing to see Hagrid.

“She’s recovering nicely, Harry,” Hagrid said, dropping his enormous hand onto Harry’s shoulder. 

“I wish I could see them,” Ted enthused as the little black creature, so macabre on the outside, bounced around on stiff legs like a baby goat. She even bleated at them, causing Hagrid to laugh.

Harry dropped his arm around Teddy’s shoulders, pulling him into a rough ‘man-hug’. “No,” he said softly, thinking of his last sight of Remus and Tonks, lying on the quickly assembled litters, hands seeming to reach toward each other even in death. “No, you really don’t.”

“So the unicorns and the Abraxans are improving, too, and I just can’t thank you enough.”

“You should be thanking Hermione,” Harry said. “She’s the one who found the answer.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, lad. Hermione’n I had our heads together for weeks and didn’t come up with it. You’ve a wonderful way with the creatures, and that matters.”

“There is one thing I don’t understand,” Ted said, turning to stare out over the lake. “If the Dementors curse affects the water of the lake, why aren’t the merpeople hurt by it? Or the giant squid?”

“Oh, he was,” Hagrid answered. “In the beginning, he was right peaky.”

“We think it’s because he’s so huge,” Harry answered. Draco had divined the answer, and Harry had agreed. “He seems a bit off, but there isn’t enough poison to kill him. And with the merpeople, there is something in their physiology that prevents them from being affected.”

“See how he talks now, Ted? Rattlin’ off ‘physiology’ like it’s nuthin.” His booming laugh carried over the snow. “Our Harry, a Doctor.” Hagrid beamed down at him with pride.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he nudged the big man’s upper arm and gave him a tight smile. 

He said his goodbyes and kissed Hermione, who was teary eyed but keeping a stiff upper lip, and nuzzled Rose and Hugo, his stubble making them laugh. By eleven forty-five he was walking into the Apparition point, his rucksack looped over his shoulder, Christmas gifts from Hermione and Ron and Ted shrunk down and wrapped in his clothes. He never did see Draco, and he assumed that was all the answer he needed.

He wore winter clothes all of the way to the Portkey office, then ducked into the gents to change into his light weight Island clothes. Feeling hurt and jilted, which he knew was silly after a few days and a few kisses, Harry hung on as his Portkey activated and the dark, damp London Street outside the window disappeared. Moments later he got his feet under him and felt the warm, fragrant air of Ginger Island waft over him through the open door of the tiny Portkey office. 

He walked through the familiar neighborhoods, warm perfumed night air caressing his face and arms and a breeze rustling the palm fronds high above. He went to his little house, already smelling musty and disused, and stayed just long enough to dump off his bag before he immediately left again. It was too early to go to bed, four hours earlier than England. It was barely eight fifteen so he decided to go to the clinic and check on the animals.

Amala, giant hooves pounding the hard packed earth of the paddock, ran to meet him at the fence. She bent over it, mouthing the top knot on his head and he laughed.

“Well, hello to you, too.” He bent to check her foreleg, reaching through the fence and rubbing his hand over the dark, sleek hair in the front, then down through the long feathers on the back above her hoof. 

“Much better, Missy,” Harry said, pulling his hand back and standing. “No more getting your feet wedged between rocks, now. Oaky?”

She knickered at him, and he grinned.

“Harry!”

He looked up to see Anya walking toward him, her stride long and elegant, wearing a sleeveless summer dress and looking lovely. Her long braids swung past her shoulders, the large gold hoops hanging from her ears and mingling with them. 

“Harry, you should have told us you were coming home!”

“I didn’t know myself until earlier today.” He hugged her, enjoying the light floral scent of her perfume.

She leaned back, smiling up into his face, her brilliant white teeth gleaming. “Did you solve the mystery?”

“With some help, yes.”

She narrowed her eyes as she studied his face. “You look tired.” She angled her head. “And sad.”

He averted his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re right about the tired part. There were some long hours and some sleepless nights. Other than that, I’m…okay.”

“Oh, you terrible liar,” she said. “Someone’s hurt you.”

He shook his head. “No, Anya. I’m fine, really. You look like you have a date,” he said, desperately trying to change the subject. 

“No date,” she said, stepping back. “Just the festival.”

“Oh, is that this weekend?”

“It is.” She grabbed his arm. “Come with me!”

“Oh, Anya,” he said, beginning to regret he’d come by. “I’m just going to check on Lee and leave a note for Jory, letting him know he can put me back on the schedule. Then I’m going home to sleep.”

“Mama’s made her black cake for the church booth. And the ice sculptor is back this year…”

Harry sighed. Anya’s mother, Terese, made a black fruitcake so full of rum one slice could get you falling down drunk, and frankly the thought of all that rum-soaked fruit was more than a little bit tempting. He hadn’t wanted to drink in England, but now he was back on the island, and the festival was two blocks from his little home. And rum usually made him very friendly. Who knew; maybe he would meet someone?

Just the thought made his eyes sting. He blinked quickly. He really didn’t want to try to socialize, and the people on the island were naturally friendly. 

“Anya,” he started, but she shook her head. Every bit as determined as Hermione. He sighed. “Okay, I’ll stay for like – an hour, but I really am tired.”

“Do you plan to tell me what happened while you were home?”

He knew there was no point in lying to her. “Maybe. But not tonight.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to forget.”

He chuckled wearily. “I didn’t for one moment think you would.”

They walked arm in arm back into the clinic.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

The Festival was crowded, the people very jolly. It seemed to Harry they’d all hit the black cake on their way into the annual party, and most of the people he talked to were really enjoying their piece of Christmas spirit.

There were colorful booths, festooned with tinsel garland and island flowers, and the scents of Caribbean cooking made Harry’s mouth water. He and Anya each bought jerk ham on cornbread sandwiches, and drank sweet Mauby from mason jars as they wandered the booths. They picked up thick slices of Terese’s black cake and took a slow wander along a narrow path between a grouping of spectacular ice sculptures, greeting clients from the clinic as they went, even a few who had their pets with them. There were two cheerful Corgi’s, a beloved pet that was more mut than German shepherd, and an iguana on a leash. 

The ice sculptor carved from blocks, the ice charmed not to melt for ten days, and his work was stunning. There was a Friesian, mane and tale flying, looking more like a water spirit from a certain kid's movie than a real horse. Nearby a large raccoon was holding an acorn at the base of a pine tree dripping with snow, and Harry wondered if the people there had ever seen any of those things before. They kept wandering down the path, and they came abreast with the sculpture of a stately stag, antlers artfully carved, so real all he was missing was his fur. Anya began to laugh.

“So, is that what your Patronus looks like?” 

Harry angled his head. He was feeling the rum from the fruit cake a bit, and some of his despondency had faded along with his coordination. After the fourth time he’d tripped over his own feet, Anya took his cake away from him. “And I’m cutting you off, Dr Potter. You’re starting to look like you’re tipsy.”

“I don’t think I’m tipsy,” Harry answered. “And I don’t think I look that heroic.”

“He is a bit ‘Bambi’s father’, isn’t he?” Anya said. 

Harry nodded. Oh, how he’d cried over that film. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to cry now, and where was that coming from?

They both stared. “Well, if it does look like that, it's lovely.”

He started to thank her when another voice interrupted. 

“Actually,” it said in a slow, achingly familiar drawl. Harry went still, afraid to turn. “That is exactly what his Patronus looks like. And it is lovely.” 

TBC


	24. Dragon in Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part: 

_There were colorful booths, festooned with tinsel garland and island flowers, and the scents of Caribbean cooking made Harry’s mouth water. He and Anya each bought jerk ham on cornbread sandwiches, and drank sweet Mauby from mason jars as they wandered the booths. They picked up thick slices of Terese’s black cake and took a slow wander along a narrow path between a grouping of spectacular ice sculptures, greeting clients from the clinic as they went, even a few who had their pets with them. There were two cheerful Corgi’s, a beloved pet that was more mut than German shepherd, and an iguana on a leash._

_The ice sculptor carved from blocks, the ice charmed not to melt for ten days, and his work was stunning. There was a Friesian, mane and tale flying, looking more like a water spirit from a certain kid's movie than a real horse. Nearby a large raccoon was holding an acorn at the base of a pine tree dripping with snow, and Harry wondered if the people there had ever seen any of those things before. They kept wandering down the path, and they came abreast with the sculpture of a stately stag, antlers artfully carved, so real all he was missing was his fur. Anya began to laugh._

_“So, is that what your Patronus looks like?”_

_Harry angled his head. He was feeling the rum from the fruit cake a bit, and some of his despondency had faded along with his coordination. After the fourth time he’d tripped over his own feet, Anya took his cake away from him. “And I’m cutting you off, Dr Potter. You’re starting to look like you’re tipsy.”_

_“I don’t think I’m tipsy,” Harry answered. “And I don’t think I look that heroic.”_

_“He is a bit ‘Bambi’s father’, isn’t he?” Anya said._

_Harry nodded. Oh, how he’d cried over that film. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to cry now, and where was that coming from?_

_They both stared. “Well, if it does look like that, it's lovely.”_

_He started to thank her when another voice interrupted._

_“Actually,” it said in a slow, achingly familiar drawl. Harry went still, afraid to turn. “That is exactly what his Patronus looks like. And it is lovely.”_

Harry’s heart jumped into his throat and he closed his eyes.

“Hello,” he heard Anya say brightly. “Have we met?”

“No,” Draco replied. “But I am acquainted with your escort.”

Anya laughed. “Oh, he isn’t my escort; he’s my friend.”

“I’d wager he’s very fortunate in that. He does seem to have the best female friends on the planet.” There was a pause. “Potter, do you plan to ever open your eyes and look at me?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Anya said. “He just ate a piece of my mother’s holiday black cake, and he’s feeling the rum.”

“Is he?”

Harry exhaled loudly and turned. “Okay, I’ve had enough of being spoken about as if I’m not here,” he said as he turned. He opened his eyes, and anything else sensible fled his mind. Draco was standing about six feet away, a pile of clothing over his arm, wearing a white silk tee shirt tucked into black slacks and black walking shoes. Harry bit back a laugh.

“You over-dressed, didn’t you?” He said. “I told you it was a lot warmer here.”

Draco gave him a level glare. “You didn’t tell me it was near thirty degrees at midnight in the dead of winter.”

“No, I guess I didn’t,” Harry admitted. He studied Draco’s face; he was flushed, but not from embarrassment this time. Pink ran across his cheekbones and forehead, even along his pointed chin and down his neck to the vee of his shirt. The silk clung to his slender frame, and his nipples were hard, clearly outlined against the fabric. He tore his eyes back to Draco’s face. “Draco, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you, and you’d left England without telling me you were going.”

Harry knew Anya’s brows shot up, even though he wasn’t looking at her, and he felt the escalation of her interest. “I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he answered. Draco’s exasperation was clear on his face. He took a few steps closer.

“More like, you didn’t think, full stop. You hit me with… well, whatever the bloody fuck that was and then abscond off to an _island_ without even allowing me to talk to you. For Merlin’s sake, Potter.”

“Draco, calm down.” Harry walked toward him; his hands lifted in a placating gesture. 

“Calm down?” Draco said. “Calm down?” He walked into Harrys personal space. “You bloody, fucking, exasperating, argh!” He reached up, digging his fingers into Harry’s hair, yanking the casual man-bun loose. His grip secure, he pulled Harry to him and covered his startled mouth with his own. 

It took Harry a minute to get with the program, probably due to rum intake, but the taste of Draco, already so familiar and missed, broke open the seal Harry had put around his heart the morning before. He wrapped his arms around Draco and tugged him in tight, angling his head and kissing back with everything he had. 

It took a moment for him to register the hand tugging on the back of his shirt, and he broke the kiss reluctantly.

“Harry,” Anya laughed, “you’re causing a scene.”

“I – “ Harry looked around and realized they were, in fact, the center of a lot of the crowds attention. He felt his face flame, and she giggled when the people around them waved or blew kisses or just grinned. 

“Well done, Dr Harry,” Terese said. “Now I understand why you never wanted to date my Anya.”

Laughter flowed around them, and Harry started to step back but Draco curled his fingers in his light weight shirt.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he whispered fiercely. He looked up into Harry’s face. “I’m holding on until we sort this out.”

“So, do you plan to introduce us?” Anya teased. “I gather he’s a friend of yours?”

“Oh, yeah, uhm, sorry.”

Draco had pulled some of Harry’s hair loose, and he tried to push it back behind his ear. When it wouldn’t stay, Harry gave up and pulled it out of the elastic band, looping it thoughtlessly around his wrist. 

“Anya, this is Draco. Draco, Anya is a tech at the clinic. Anya, Draco is the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts.”

Anya offered her hand. “Pleased to me you.”

Draco shook her hand. It was hard to tell if he was still flushed from the heat or blushing, but Harry thought the colour looked good on him. 

“Draco, is it?” A deep, gravelly voice said. “Named for the Constellation Draconis, or the dragon.”

They turned at the interruption and found an older man standing behind them. 

“This is Isaac,” Anya said. “He’s the ice sculptor.”

“We were just admiring your work,” Harry said. 

“Your Patronus is a stag, isn’t it, Harry Potter?”

Harry blinked, startled. “Uhm, yeah, it is.” He dislodged Draco’s fingers from the front of his shirt but didn’t release his hand. He gave him a look, hoping it said ‘give me a second, here’. Draco nodded slightly. 

Isaac’s eyes came back to Draco. “I have something that might interest you too, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco stiffened, but the old man didn’t seem hostile. He turned and limped away, leaning heavily on a cane, and they followed him. When they’d walked to the other side of the installation, the man paused, gesturing. 

He was pointing to another sculpture, this one taller and wider, more intricate. The late afternoon sun shone through spread wings and caught in etched scales, and the Dragon almost seemed to glow with an inner light. 

“That’s stunning,” Harry said. He looked over into Draco’s eyes, smiling slightly. “I kind of like this one better, though. No offense.”

“None taken,” Isaac said with a slight grin. “So, now that you’re no longer the center of attention, perhaps you’d like to get out of here?”

“Oh, Isaac, you brilliant man,” Anya laughed. She turned to Harry and made a ‘shooing’ motion with her hands. “So, go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Harry blinked. “Thank you, Isaac,” he said, turning to Draco. “With me?”

Draco nodded without hesitation and Harry wrapped his arm around his slender waist and Apparated away.

_hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm_

When they landed in Harry’s small living room, Harry was still holding on tight. They stared at one another before Draco took a reluctant step back.

“We need to talk.”

Harry hated that phrase, but he nodded. “All right.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki board shorts. “Would you care for a beer?”

“Uhm, sure.” Draco laid his clothes over the arm of the sofa and looked around the room. “Would you mind if I cast a cooling charm?”

“Not at all,” Harry said, thinking the living room still felt stuffy and hot from his sojourn to England. He went to the kitchen for two beers straight from the frig, uncapping them on the counter and returning to find his living room much cooler, and Draco perched on the edge of the sofa like he might take flight in fear at any moment. He handed Draco the bottle, on which condensation was already forming, and sat across from him in his one armchair.

“This is your place, then?” Draco asked, popping to his feet and looking out the large window. “The view is spectacular.”

“It’s why I rented it,” Harry said, deciding to stay where he was. “It doesn’t have much else to recommend it, honestly. It’s about the same as most on Ginger, but it does have that view.”

Draco rocked back and forward, onto his heels, then onto his toes, then his heels. “Harry,” he finally said abruptly, turning around. “Why did you do that?”

Harry stared at him. “Which – “

“Show me that, in the Room of Requirement, then just… leave?”

“I didn’t just leave, Draco,” Harry replied. “I was there for almost twenty-four more hours. I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would’ve.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. “I was – Merlin, I don’t even know what I was. I’d never considered myself married, or with children. It was a shock. I – well, honestly, I went home to talk to my mother, if you must know.”

Now that he thought about it, Harry wasn’t even surprised. He rolled the bottle between his palms. “And?”

“And?” Draco frowned. “And what?”

“What did your mother say?” Harry replied patiently. 

“Oh. Well.” Draco blushed again, to Harry’s delight. “She said I was selling myself short, and if you hadn’t run for the hills on sight of it then I was being stupid running home to my mother.” Draco quickly covered his mouth, then ran his fingers through his hair. “And I didn’t mean to say that out loud, ever. You bewilder me, Potter. I never know what to say to you.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, trying to hide his amusement. “Now you know how I’ve felt for nearly twenty years, every time I’ve been in the same room with you.”

Draco whirled. “What? You always made me feel so fucking inferior, like nothing I could do would ever be good enough. Right from the moment you wouldn’t shake my hand.”

“Much as I felt after every Dementor fake-out…”

“Not my finest moment,” Draco agreed sheepishly.

“Or Potter Stinks badge, or Bludger to the head line-drawing, or ‘Potter’,” he impersonated Draco’s sly, drawn out tone, and Draco sighed.

“Why did you bother, then?” he asked, carefully studying Harry’s face.

“Pardon? Why did I bother with what?”

Draco stared. “To save my life.”

Harry felt as if he’d slapped his face. “Because you didn’t deserve to die,” he said. “Because I believed it was a life worth saving.”

“I’m not sure it was, then,” Draco said softly. “I’d like to think it’s improved somewhat.” He took a deep breath and blew it out through his mouth. “After I ran away from you, I went to my mother. She told me to grow up and tell you I’ve been in love with you since sixth year, then kicked me out,” Harry caught his breath, “I came back to school and – went to the room.”

“The Room of Requirement?”

Draco nodded raggedly. 

“Was it … was it the same?” Harry asked breathlessly. Draco hesitated, then nodded. 

“It showed me that Christmas, the one from…”

“When we were going to your Mother’s?”

Draco nodded again. “Yes,” he whispered. “Christmas morning. Mother, Weasley’s, Teddy and our three,” he paused to swallow, “included. It was madness.”

Harry couldn’t help his short chuckle. “I’ll bet.”

“And it was wonderful,” Draco went on. He continued to stare at Harry. “I didn’t know you could cook. I mean, can you? Do you – cook?”

Harry had never seen Draco so off his usual reserve, and he smiled. “Is this a job interview?”

Draco startled. “What? No.”

“I’m teasing,” Harry said quickly, fearful Draco’s brain might short circuit with all of the emotion rushing, unchecked, across his face. “Yes, I’m a rather good cook, actually, thanks to my Muggle aunt. She was never kind about it, and I took more than one rap on the knuckles for burning something before I got it right, but Petunia was a very good cook. Therefore, I am, as well. I imagine if she knew she was doing me a favour she’d have stopped.”

“Oh,” Draco ran his fingers through his hair again. “Uhm, well, you cooked dinner. A turkey and – everything that goes with, and it was brilliant. Then all of us sitting around our sitting room, the mums taking turns holding the baby while Teddy entertained the twins by making their new Quidditch action figures fly around the room. And as I watched I knew I wanted that, so much it made my heart swell, like that Muggle cartoon about the Gitch who stole Christmas and his heart grew three sizes…”

“The Grinch,” Harry corrected, setting his beer aside and standing. “That character is called ‘the Grinch’.’

“Oh,” Draco said, looking distracted. “I’ve only ever seen it once. One of Pansy’s Muggle relatives, who the family never did admit existed, gave her this… player for Christmas when we were nine, and that was on it. She was fascinated by the whole thing, until she realized it required batteries and she knew no place that sold them.”

Harry chuckled. “I doubt they sell them on Diagon Alley.”

“Not likely. Anyway, my heart,” he rubbed his chest, closing his eyes. “My God, Harry, how can I already be in love with children I’ve never met?”

Harry crossed to him, taking his arm in one hand and relieving him of his beer with the other. “I don’t know,” he answered as he set the beer on the windowsill. “But I feel the same. And I only saw the boys for a minute during the first time.”

Draco shook his head. “They’re complete hooligans, but then naming them James and Sirius, I’m not sure what we expected.”

Harry had to swallow around the knot in his throat. “Really?”

“Ah, but I got you back,” Draco said, sounding shaky. “Little Miss is a complete tyrant, true to her name, too.” He opened his eyes and looked into Harry’s, and the silvery gray were awash with dampness. “Miss Narcissa Lily Malfoy-Potter will rule England, promptly taking over Parliament and restoring the monarchy to absolute rule, but with herself as Queen.”

Harry laughed. “She sounds perfect.”

“They’re all perfect. Perfect, impossible, utter brats and I want them.”

Harry caught his other arm and held them both above the elbow. “How long did you watch?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Hours. Until Ted left to meet the new girls' parents, Merlin help them, the Molly and Arthur left to walk over to Ron and Hermione’s, and Mother Floo’d home. We put them children to bed, and then…”

Harry’s breath caught. “And then?”

Draco swallowed, and Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob. “And then – I didn’t think it was right to watch us make love under a Christmas tree, when we’ve never actually made love in truth.”

Harry pulled him closer. “I think we’re about to fix that,” he promised softly. 

“Thank Merlin.”

Harry smiled, then took Draco’s lips with his own.

TBC

_I told you we’d get there. And we will!!_


	25. Feeling Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this part:

_“Not likely. Anyway, my heart,” he rubbed his chest, closing his eyes. “My God, Harry, how can I already be in love with children I’ve never met?”_

_Harry crossed to him, taking his arm in one hand and relieving him of his beer with the other. “I don’t know,” he answered as he set the beer on the windowsill. “But I feel the same. And I only saw the boys for a minute during the first vision.”_

_Draco shook his head. “They’re complete hooligans, but then named James and Sirius, I’m not sure what we expected.”_

_Harry had to swallow around the knot in his throat. “Really?”_

_“Ah, but I got you back,” Draco said, sounding shaky. “Little Miss is a complete tyrant, true to her name, too.” He opened his eyes and looked into Harry’s, and the silvery grey was awash with tears. “Miss Narcissa Lily Malfoy-Potter will rule England, promptly taking over Parliament and restoring the monarchy to absolute rule, but with herself as Queen.”_

_Harry laughed. “She sounds perfect.”_

_“They’re all perfect. Perfect, impossible, utter brats and I want them.”_

_Harry caught his other arm and held them both above the elbow. “How long did you watch?”_

_Draco shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Hours. Until Ted left to meet the new girl’s parents, Merlin help them, Molly and Arthur left to walk over to Ron and Hermione’s, and Mother Floo’d home. We put the children to bed, and then…”_

_Harry’s breath caught. “And then?”_

_Draco swallowed, and Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob. “And then – I didn’t think it was right to watch us make love under a Christmas tree, when we’ve never actually made love in truth.”_

_Harry pulled him closer. “I think we’re about to fix that,” he promised softly._

_“Thank Merlin.”_

_Harry smiled, then took Draco’s lips with his own._

It was a lovely kiss. It started out sweet and slow, a giving and taking of lips and teeth and tongue, hands moving slowly over long, tensile muscles, consciously avoiding areas that cried out for touch. They drew it out, each taking the lead, then resigning it to the control of the other, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever been kissed, or kissed, quite so thoroughly. It was perfect, and then it wasn’t enough.

Harry pulled his shirt off over his head without bothering to undo the buttons, dropping it to the floor as he began to ease Draco toward the open door of the bedroom. Draco made a sound of delight on seeing all of Harry’s dark sun-tanned skin and his firm muscles. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said, in utter contradiction to the enjoyment on his features and the spread of his pale hands on Harry’s pecs. “It’s so utterly unfair for you to be you, _and_ look like this.”

“Shut-up,” Harry said lightly, yanking the hem of Draco’s t-shirt out of the low hanging waist of his trousers. He pulled it up and off over Draco’s head, loving the way his hair fell over his eyes, and the expanse of smooth, pale skin that was revealed. His nipples were pale pink and body wide, firm plains and angles and broad shoulders. He reminded Harry of the swimmers he’d seen on the Olympics, and he’d always been attracted to that rangy type of build. Looking at him, feeling Draco’s hands on his body, Harry thought he was perfect. 

“I’m just so very white,” Draco replied. “I mean, look at this.” 

He spread his hand on Harry’s brown chest and the difference really was pretty startling. 

“I know you weren’t this tan in school. I spent entirely too much time staring at you to miss that.”

Harry laughed. “No, I’ve never been this tan in my life. But you’re beautiful, Draco, you have to know it. And seriously? I don’t want to talk anymore.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him through the door into the bedroom.

The bed was neatly made, as Harry hadn’t spent any time in it since he got back. Draco looked around, then gasped when Harry pushed him down on the pale off white comforter. Draco landed on his back with his arms above his head and his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Harry leaned over him, quickly undoing Draco’s belt and waistband, then grabbing trousers and pants and sweeping them to his ankles. Draco’s prick, long and slender, bobbed up and slapped against his lower stomach, half of it resting in a nest of pale curls.

“Oh, this is sexy,” Harry said, fingers threading through the blond pubic hair. 

“Potter, I will not fuck with my trousers around my ankles.”

“And I will not fuck as long as you're using my last name.” He looked down into Draco eyes expectantly. “Come on,” he finally prodded. “You can do it. Har-ry. It’s not hard.”

“Well, it won’t be for long if you keep talking like that.” He paused, then rolled his eyes. “Harry.”

“Ah, see? He can be taught.” Harry grinned at Draco’s sour expression and knelt smoothly by Draco’s feet, untying his shoes and taking them off one at a time, then pulling off his slacks and pants and letting them drop to the floor. Draco went up onto his elbows as Harry looked up into his face, then down at his cock. 

“Well, what a handy position,” Draco teased.

“Isn’t it?” Harry grinned, curling his fingers around Draco’s cock and holding it upright. “Truly a thing of beauty, this,” Harry said, stroking the velvety skin slowly up and down, pulling back his foreskin. Harry leaned forward, burying his nose in the soft blond hair at the base of Draco’s cock, inhaling deeply. 

“What are you doing?” Draco said, gripping a handful of Harry’s hair and pulling it back, anchoring it on the top of his head. 

“Smelling you,” Harry answered, tracing his nose down the crease where Draco’s long leg met his hip. 

“Well, stop it, you freak,” Draco laughed.

“You smell wonderful,” Harry said, dragging his nose up the length of Draco’s prick. He smiled up into Draco’s eyes. “I’ll bet you taste better.”

One of Draco’s brows, always the right one, Harry realized, arched ironically. “Only one way for you to find out.”

“True.” Harry flicked out his tongue, slipping it over the pink tip of Draco’s prick. “I knew you’d be delicious. And you are.” Harry eased up onto his knees, slipping his mouth over Draco’s prick and slowly, steadily taking him into his mouth, then into his throat. Draco groaned, one hand coming up to cover his face. 

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” he moaned. 

Harry pulled up and off. “I’m getting there,” he teased, then went back down again. Draco pulled on his hair hard enough it brought tears to Harry’s eyes. He grunted, reaching to the top of his head to ease the grip, and Draco made a sound that somehow combined apology and need. Harry eased Draco’s hand from his curls and linked their fingers, pinning it to the bed before taking him deep into his throat. Draco’s hips began to move with each long, slow suck, and he groaned, pulling against Harry’s grip. It wasn’t long before he was whining, fighting to free his hand. Harry sat up slowly, letting his hair slide along Draco’s length and the sound he made was guttural.

“Fuck. You keep that up and I’m going to come.”

“So?” Harry slid the hand wrapped around the base of Draco’s cock to the tip and back down again, pulling his foreskin back, leaving the shining head, which was now more red than pink, exposed. He leaned forward and curled his tongue around it, reaching down to cup Draco’s balls, gently squeezing them. 

Draco grunted, and Harry tasted the tangy bitterness of pre-come on his tongue. He hummed. After caressing the tight globes for several minutes, Harry slid his fingers along the firm skin of Draco’s perineum, down to the concave indentation of his arsehole. 

Draco squeaked.

“Easy,” Harry whispered. “We’ll go slow.”

“Not too slow,” Draco said, sounding breathless. Harry chuckled. 

“Not too slow.”

He opened the drawer in the nightstand by his hip, taking out a small blue vial and popping the cork. He poured the slippery substance into his hand, then reached down again, liberally greasing the furled skin of Draco’s opening before slipping his index finger slowly into the clinging heat. He was tight, really tight, and Harry slowed his invasion. 

“When is the last time you were with someone?” Harry asked, moving his finger incrementally deeper. “You’re so tight.”

“It’s been a while,” Draco admitted. For some reason, he couldn’t say why, that pleased Harry. He wished he could say the same. 

It took him a while to loosen the muscles in order to allow Draco to take two fingers, then three. Harry found his prostate and stroked over the spongy nut sized gland, and Draco nearly came up off of the bed. 

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured.

“Says you,” Draco panted. “You have big hands, you bastard.”

Harry chuckled. “Noted. I’ll go slower.”

“No, no,” Draco gasped. “Just take your fingers out and put your cock in. Unless it’s as big as three of your fingers.”

“Well…”

“Oh, Gods.” Draco grabbed his hair and pulled. “Now. Right now.”

“Hey, easy on the hair,” Harry said, pulling gently away and standing, unbuttoning and unzipping his board shorts. Draco watched him hungrily, impatiently, his leg still drawn up and his slicked, loosened hole luring Harry back. He let his shorts and his pants fall to the floor, and Draco made a sound in his throat.

“Bigger than three fingers, then,” he said, reaching up. “Come down here.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Harry said firmly.

“I like it to hurt a little bit, in the beginning,” Draco admitted. Harry’s cock surged and Harry agreed; that sounded just dandy to him. He paused long enough to take a condom from the drawer, tear it open and slide it over his hardness.

Harry pushed Draco’s leg up and back, taking himself in his hand and lining up with Draco’s hole. Draco spread his hand on Harry’s chest, sliding his fingers through the light covering of hair across his pecs. Harry pressed in and Draco gripped the hair, pulling.

“Hey, easy,” Harry said, freeing Draco’s hand. “I don’t mind a little pull, but I’d like to keep them.”

Draco gasped as Harry slid in a little further. “I told you I got off on hair.”

“I don’t remember you wording it quite that way, but I seem to recall something about that, yes.”

“Oh, stop.” Harry went still, waiting, and Draco batted his shoulder. “Not _that_. Stop talking. I can’t hold a conversation right now.”

“Wait, there’s a method to shut Draco Malfoy up?” Harry teased, grinning. Draco grabbed one of his nipples and pinched it, hard. “Ouch!”

“Do remember, I will hurt you,” Draco growled, glaring. Harry pushed his hips forward, faster than he had been, until he stopped with his groin against Draco’s arse. Draco cried out and gasped, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders.

He was so tight around Harry’s prick that Harry could hardly think. All he wanted was to move, faster and harder, and now. Those fingers digging into his shoulders spurred him on. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked breathlessly, his fingers fisting in the bed spread as he held himself back.

“Yes,” Draco moaned. “Don’t just lie there. Move!”

“Jesus, you’re bossy,” Harry complained, but he was so relieved, he pulled back and thrust into Draco, bracing his feet on the floor. Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s body, and begin to lift into his pumping rhythm, and it wasn’t long before the room was filled with the sounds of grunting and gasping, and the singing springs of the old bed.

Draco came first, his hand around his prick as he jerked it fast. He arched and cried out, come striping his stomach and landing on Harry’s chest and chin. Harry came almost immediately after, fucking the pliant body beneath him, stiffening and writhing as he filled the condom. They held one another hard, then Harry collapsed on Draco’s chest. 

For several minutes the room was silent but for the sound of their breathing. 

“Harry,” Draco said finally.

“Mmm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Hmm.”

Draco waited a moment, then poked Harry in the ribs with one of his bony fingers. 

“Ouch!” Harry pushed up onto one hand, giving Draco a hard glare. “You’re dangerous.”

“You’re heavy,” he repeated. “I need to breathe.”

Harry held the condom in place and rolled onto his back beside him, then removed it and tied the top in a knot before tossing it toward the bin. Draco watched him, grey eyes inquisitive.

“Haven’t you ever seen a condom before?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. 

“Well, of course I’ve seen one. I just never really watched what happened to one – after, before.”

“Ah.”

“Are you trying to tell me I didn’t distract you sufficiently?” 

Draco rolled his head and gave Harry a slow smile that filled his eyes with light. “Oh, I was quite sufficiently distracted, Dr Potter.” He pushed at his damp fringe and a single bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. “In case no one has ever told you before, you are quite a brilliant fuck.”

“Good to know.” Harry reached out and wrapped one arm around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

“I’m sticky,” Draco complained.

“I can live with it,” Harry replied. “It’s my fault.” He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, and his wand pulled free of the back pocket of his shorts and flew into his hand. He cast a cooling charm, and Draco sighed, resting against him. 

“Oh, you are a handy one to have around, aren’t you?”

“I live to serve,” Harry quipped. Within minutes it was too cool to lay naked on the bed. “Shift up.” Draco looked up at him, frowning slightly. “Up. Head on the pillows.”

“Oh. Okay.” He turned on the bed and Harry stood and walked into the small closet, grabbing an additional comforter from the shelf, thanking the impulse that made him pack it when he’d moved, and not leave it with Ron and Hermione. He spread it over Draco, who was watching him with a slight smile, and crawled beneath it beside him. 

“What?” Harry asked, pulling Draco back into his arms. 

“You’re a cuddler, aren’t you?” Draco asked with a long-suffering sigh.

“Guilty as charged. Now what was the grin about?”

Draco pressed his face against Harry’s neck, and hesitated. 

“Draco?”

Harry heard Draco swallow. “Okay. Watching you walk across a room from the back is a very pleasant experience.”

Harry smiled against his hair. “I live to be a pleasant experience for you, Draco.”

Draco snorted. “Maybe not right now, but eventually you will.”

Harry laughed.

_hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm_

“So, did you put much thought into what’s going on with the Room of Requirement?”

They were sitting on the foot of the bed, eating black olives, pickled asparagus and strawberries soaked in vodka Anya had given Harry for his birthday. It was about all Harry had in the house but for some chocolates from Zonko’s, which still sat in the bag next to the jar of strawberries. Draco looked up at Harry’s question. 

“I have, actually,” Draco said.

“How did you get in, by the way?”

Draco’s chest flushed pink, and Harry smiled. “I asked it… what I’d been missing.”

Harry didn’t chuckle, but he wanted to. 

“So, the Room of Requirement?”

Draco pulled a strawberry from the jar and popped it into his mouth, dripping juice on his chest on the way. Harry made an interested sound, then leaned in and licked the drip of pink vodka from his skin. 

“Now, there’s an idea with promise,” Draco said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Remind me later. And you accuse me of being unable to concentrate.”

“Oh, right. The Room.” Draco’s brow furrowed thoughtfully, and he popped a black olive into his mouth. “When I was getting into it in sixth year, I always concentrated on what I thought I _needed_.”

“Same, here.” Harry crunched on a stalk of asparagus, vinegary and sharp, then took a drink of his beer. It was a surprisingly satisfying combination. 

“Well, it seems to me that this time, both of us were concentrating on what we wanted.”

“Missed,” Harry amended. 

“Missed,” Draco agreed. “But you can’t tell me you didn’t want it. You wanted it before I did.”

“That’s true,” Harry said. “But wouldn’t that suggest a fundamental change in the Room’s purpose?”

“Possibly,” Draco agreed. “I think the Fiendfyre destroyed the room’s previous magic, but the castle knew some of us, at least, were going to still have if not exactly requirements, we were going to need answers. Showing us what we missed, by being robbed of our childhoods, maybe. You and I wanted to see what we’d missed. Someone else might need something else.

“So the room is now, what?”

“Whatever you need, I guess. Severus told me it used to be called ‘The Room of Missing Things’. I think we hit it right in its sweet spot.”

Harry laughed, then quietened. “Maybe it should go back to being the Room of Missing Things,” he said thoughtfully.

“I’ll talk to Minerva.”

“We’ll talk to Minerva,” Harry said decisively. Draco looked over quickly, eyes wide. 

“We?”

“We.”

“Are you…coming back?”

“Seems to me Hogsmeade could probably use a vet.”

Harry saw Draco’s hands begin to tremble. “Don’t you have a practice here?”

Harry had a horrible thought. “Do you want me to stay here?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open, then he threw a strawberry at Harry’s head. Seeker’s reflexes still intact, he grabbed it from midair.

“You are so dumb. No, I don’t want you to stay here. I want you to come back with me, whenever we go before term starts. We can stay here until the Sunday before, I don’t care. I just…” He stopped, as if unsure he wanted to continue. Finally, he did. “I want you to want it.”

“Draco,” Harry said, staring intently into his eyes. “I want it.”

“And your practice here?”

Harry shrugged, finding it truly just that easy. “I can come back for a couple of days a month. Sublet this place, take a room for a day or two. It’s time for Jory and Anya to take over. I’m ready to go home.” He put the strawberry in his mouth and chewed, then kissed Draco, letting some of the boozy juice slip into his mouth. He pulled back, his hand coming up to cup Draco’s cheek. “I’m ready to go home – with you.”

The shy smile, so unlike Draco’s usual self-assured expression, reminded Harry of the way he sometimes caught his hands together at his lower back when he was nervous or uncomfortable. But when he leaned against Harry’s shoulder and pressed his face into Harry’s neck, Harry realized this Draco, the one curled against him like a warm, soft puppy, was his alone. 

One he didn’t want to share.

_Epilogue_

Three years later…

Harry opened the oven and checked the hot, beautifully browned roast, basting it carefully, then closing the door again. Everything else, all of the accompaniments to the vast dinner, were sitting under stasis charms on the island of their custom remodelled kitchen, but the meat wasn’t quite where he wanted it to be yet, and so he closed the door and went back to pulling apart the homemade dinner rolls Molly brought, placing them in a self-warming basket and covering them with a towel before using his wand to set a spell that prevented drying.

“Amazing.”

Harry looked up to find his husband leaning against the doorframe.

He was wearing a pale coral (“Pink!” Ron teased every chance he got) jumper, looking healthy and rested and happy. And beautiful, Harry thought, hair shining, slender frame expertly dressed, fond smile in place. The Hogwarts Express had left to take the students (or brat-lets of assorted size, as Draco called them) home the Friday before, so he hadn’t had to teach a class in nearly a week. 

By comparison Harry thought he must look a wreck, hair escaping from the twist on his head to curl around his face in the heat, falling in some weird parody of ringlets down his back. His face was sweaty, and he was wearing an apron splattered with almost every dish he’d made. The sleeves of his button down had escaped being stained thus far, but he doubted his record of eating dinner with gravy on his cuff would ever be interrupted. 

He could have had the elves do dinner; in fact, he thought they were a bit insulted that he wouldn’t let them. It was why the Malfoy-Potters did their holiday celebration on the day before Christmas Eve; Draco got what he wanted, which was to show off his husbands cooking abilities, and the elves got to do both Christmas Eve and Christmas day. It worked all around. 

“What’s amazing?” Harry asked, wiping his hands on a pristine kitchen towel.

“You are.” Draco sauntered from the door and around the eight-foot island, coming to Harry, lifting the towel from his hands. He tossed it aside, and Harry gave him a faintly indulgent look. “I need to keep an eye on the roast, Draco.”

They hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk since Harry climbed out of their bed, starting prep work in the kitchen. He’d made his husband his coffee and toast, barely breaking stride as he’d set it on the counter for him, then made oatmeal for the twins. He’d barely had a second to breathe, and it felt good to stop even for a moment. Better yet when Draco leaned in and kissed him.

“You smell like roast,” Draco teased. 

“Lovely,” Harry said wryly. “You’re smelling the roast in the oven right behind you.”

“Ah. See, I thought you had a new cologne.”

Harry chuckled. “What? Eau de Raw Meat? Charming.”

Draco pretended thoughtfulness. “It would probably work for a bear. But I’m thinking more like Eau de Medium Rare.”

Harry shook his head with faux solemnity. “Did someone tell you once that you were funny, because I feel they did you a true disservice.”

Draco spread his hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

Harry picked up his wand and poked Draco in the hip. “I’ll wound you.”

“Hey, careful there. I’ve seen what that thing can do.”

Harry laughed and rolled his wand onto the island, reaching around to grip his husbands' arse instead. “Kiss me, you idiot.”

“Gladly.” Draco leaned into to Harry’s body, kissing him with exhaustive patience. 

Neither of them heard the sound of little feet until a foghorn deep voice for a small child called out, “You were right, Mum,” Hugo Weasley shouted. “They’re kissing. And Harry is grabbing Draco’s bum!”

“Tattle,” Draco hissed at the little boy over the sound of laughter from the living room. 

“Tell them to knock it off,” Ron shouted. “We’re hungry.”

“Tell Ron if he wants to eat, he’ll let me kiss my husband,” Harry shouted back, and kissed Draco again, not giving a fig about their witness, until the digital thermometer he’d put in the meat began to sound off. Then he was all business, shooing out both Draco and Hugo, who ran from Draco when he growled and pretended to stalk him.

hpdmhpdmhpdmhpdm

Harry took his seat at the head of the table, at Draco’s insistence, and waited while the other men carried in the platters. Arthur was carving the roast in the kitchen, which was far simpler than trying to do it at the table, and Draco insisted Harry wasn’t going to carry the meal in after spending all the hours cooking it. So he sat, appreciating taking the load off his feet, and looked around his dinner table with satisfaction. Ron, Hermione and the kids were there, and George, Angelica Johnson and Molly and Arthur. Minerva sat at the other end of the long table, and she and Hermione had their heads together. Hugo sat in between the highchairs holding James and Sirius, acting very much the ‘big boy’, tearing off tiny pieces of roll and putting them on the boy's trays. Rosie was reading a book, and Harry watched as Ron leaned in to tap the back of it and pantomimed her closing it. She did, giving her beloved dad a smile. Neville and Hannah Longbottom were there; Neville had replaced Pomona Sprout, and Hannah now owned and ran The Leaky Cauldron in London. The Patil twins were there, and Greg Goyle sat next to Pansy Parkinson, the two of them on one side of Narcissa Malfoy. It was a wide ranging and eclectic bunch, and Harry loved how seamlessly they all mingled around his and Draco’s dining table.

Hagrid leaned out around Horace Slughorn, who had retired the year before. “Harry, how is Mrs Erlington’s cat? She told me all about it at the mercantile yesterday.”

“He’s fine,” Harry answered, thinking of the ornery old woman and her equally ornery cat. When he’d decided to open a private veterinary practice in Hogsmeade, he knew there would be patients like ‘Muffin’ Erlington. He just wished the old bastard would stop eating his owner's stockings. They were a right bitch to get back out, and Muffin was a menace.

In addition to seeing the villagers for their pets, he had an equal number of large animal patients at the nearby farms and helped oversee the animals at Hogwarts. The baby Thestral who’d been so sickly was now a strong mare with foals of her own, the unicorns had moved far back into the Forest, and the Centaurs appeared occasionally, usually when Firenze had some completely incomprehensible prediction to depart. 

A new wrinkle in their already busy lives was that Hagrid had just begun to make noise about retiring. Minerva asked Harry if he’d consider taking over care of Magical creatures, and he was considering it. When life calmed down to a dull roar, he and Draco would discuss it, and see if it was workable. He liked the idea, but it had to make sense for their family.

Finally Arthur carried in the carved roast, to flattering applause, and took his seat at the table. 

“Family and friends, please join hands,” he said, and Harry smiled at Draco and took his hand, then let Sirius curl his chubby fingers around his thumb. Arthur’s grace was short and heartfelt, and when he was done, Draco snatched up the Christmas cracker between them on the jam-packed tabletop before Harry even had a chance to reach for it. Draco loved the damned things, and Harry honestly didn’t care if he got to it first. He gave Harry the cheeky, bright-eyed smile he loved. 

The ringing of a spoon on fine crystal cut through the lively conversation around the table and Minerva stood, lifting her glass.

“A toast,” she said, and the adults lifted their wine, the children their pumpkin juice. “To our hosts; thank you, gentlemen, for this lovely feast. May you revel in a long life full of joy and love.”

“Here, here,” Arthur called out, and it was repeated more than once as their guests drank to their health. Harry never really planned to have a home of his own, or a husband, or children, so to him, all of this was the ultimate blessing. He felt full to bursting with gratitude. 

Finally Draco sat his glass on their white linen table cloth and snatched up the colourful Christmas cracker between them. He held it out with a bright, cheeky grin and Harry had a moment’s thought for the wan, unhappy boy of their sixth year. My, how things had changed. Draco extended it to his husband, mobile brow arched.

“Feeling lucky, Potter?”

Harry laughed, then looked around the crowded table, at all the people they loved, at the life they’d built together. He reached out and grabbed the other end of the cracker. 

“So lucky, Malfoy. So very, very lucky.”

They each pulled, and the cracker came apart with a sharp, explosive ‘crack’.

The end


End file.
